The Whisper Of The Wind
It comes from the Northwest with bad intentions. My eyes ice up and my casting is labored. It changes directions and thwarts my best cast causing it to land in the frozen underbrush. My hands are chapped and cracked from its endless attack. I finally get a decent cast against my bitter adversary. The reward is short lived because of no eager trout discovered on the cast. It blows the snow across my water and causes the water to dance and mock me. I plod on and thank the wind for reminding me that I am still alive and life is not supposed to be easy. The wind whispers in my ear and tells me that it is March and better days lay ahead.
Another day and another experience is before me. Today the wind is from the West is much less harsh. It is actually inviting me to come and feel its greatness. The wind engages the trees and they do a slow methodical dance. The buds are emerging and the wind tickles them and it asks the leaves to appear. This same wind carries the smells of the unfrozen earth and gives me a sensory experience unrivaled by the best perfumes. These are the days that my casts hold true and my trout are eager. The wind whispers as I exit the stream and head home. It says: “Come again.”
The rain pounds me. It comes sideways due to the aggressive nature of the south wind. It has no intentions of allowing me to fish. It has me in its clutches and wants to show me who is boss. I wade upstream and the wind is blocked by the hillside but it is still raining. The fishing is insane. I lose track of how many trout I catch. I must walk back to the truck. The wind is waiting for me around the corner like an impatient school teacher. The wind coupled with its sister the rain escorts me to my truck. I am thoroughly drenched. The wind forgot to whisper today. It screamed and it still was an excellent day.
It is late June and the wind sleeps today. The humidity is stifling and I wish for my friend to appear. The wildflowers are bursting and filling the stagnant air with promise. The bugs are buzzing and the trout are feeding on the top. My day is phenomenal. The trout are eager and almost fly on to my hook. There is something missing this day. The stream is just too quiet. It is almost deafening. I whisper to the wind: “The day was silent and fulfilling but empty without your company.”
Fall comes in like a lion. The kaleidoscope of leaves is torn from their trees by what appears to be an angry mistress. The tapestry of leaves escape across the fall landscape and shout that winter is soon to be here. The wind whips the leaves into a frenzy and it picks up a couple unwelcome pieces of trash. My wind asks me to remove this unwelcome guest from its grasp. I pick up the garbage and place it in my vest pocket. My outing is short and no trout are to be discovered. The wind whispers to me as I leave: “Thank you for coming and removing the unwelcome guest.” “Come again my friend.”
