On the road yesterday to the beautiful falls at Tarryall Reservoir, a not so young cowboy reflected on reality.
Two days ago, it was tempting to have a pity party concerning my now non existent mobility on the tennis court. With further introspection, I flashed on Connor whose sparkling tennis is produced from a wheelchair. Fresh in my memory is another renowned teaching pro who has difficulty standing and one more who lost part of a leg to amputation a few years ago.
So, yesterday was a bit of a wake up call. As I’m doing battle with some of the most gorgeous rainbows below the falls, there were no thoughts about tennis mobility or the lack of same.
No sir.
Just that sweet and focused attention that every angler relishes…the sublime and rhythmic line flowing back and then lightly touching down…the heightened attention to flies drifting lazily in the current, and the anticipation of a bent rod tethered to a wild and gymnast like contorting rainbow.
The water from the falls was noticeably more powerful than two weeks ago. You could hear it roaring while donning waders and attaching the wading staff…a strong and cleansing sound that obliterated any and all thoughts of pity or regret.
Life was and is good as another trout is released and darts back to its heaven like home.
Stream side wake up calls are welcome gifts indeed.
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