24 Jul Back 40: Bewitched
Behind the beaver dam
the water shimmered silver clouds
reflecting the twilight sky.
Rippling surface circles
barely betrayed trout sipping midges
that barely caught my eye.
Still as a heron I waited
as the pond blushed beautifully to pink
when the sun began to die.
Bewitched by this opalescent silence
I wandered beyond, toward my own death,
and forgot to cast my fly.