Evening slowly sucks away the light of a warm summer’s day. Taking first the harsh blues and yellows of the midday sun, leaving wonderful, warm tones to drain impossibly slowly into the horizon. Oranges, purples and hazy reds cast brilliant across the sky, bathe the sun-baked landscape in the soft afterglow of summer.
Amongst the lengthening shadows, in the midst of all this colour, the angler casts his lines. Landing softly on the mirror surface, the bait falls slowly into the murky depths. It rests upon the lakebed ready for the wait ahead. Out of all control, yet never far from the angler’s thoughts.
Whilst the water redraws it’s perfect red streaked sky, he takes a final, lengthy gaze out on the scene where tonight, finally, his dreams might just come true. The sun’s last breath lights the clouds as impossibly deep colours burn away brightly, but fleetingly, before fading into night.
The angler lies embraced by a warm blanket of darkness not sleeping, but dreaming nonetheless. It’s here that the magic begins, for in the darkness, the waiting grows in the air. Amongst the thick silence of ancient timber, he lies perched upon lush, grassy banks, dreaming of what the water’s still, glass surface might conceal.
Down there in the unknown his happiness swims with broad strokes of it’s mighty tail. It glides gracefully from his consciousness to his bait, hesitating for just a moment before tilting it’s open mouth to the lakebed. With timeless, silent skill it blows billowing clouds of silt from it’s gills, filtering food from the lake’s rich deposits. All the while moving closer and closer with impossibly delicate balance from it’s powerful, golden fins.
At last, the baited hook comes into view.
Lying perfectly still in the cocoon of his own fantasy, the angler’s heart quickens.
With unbearable slowness the fish inhales the bait. A pause, no more than a instant but longer than a lifetime, and the fish panics, bolting in a bid to reverse it’s misfortune - setting the hook firmly into it’s rubbery lip…this is it! It’s happening!
… A deep drawing of breath from within the drab green shelter as the angler rolls restfully onto his side, adjusts his eyes to the darkness of the lake and glances hopefully to his rods. Perfectly aligned, and painstakingly arranged, their silhoutte remains unmoved.
Not this time.
Well, not yet…
Stumble it!
