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trout on the hook8.18.02 One of those things

I walked back from my fishing hole at dusk singing to myself. Old Cole Porter tune: it was just one of those things... it was great fun but it was just one of those things...

The song was for the poor trout I savaged in a botched attempt to remove the hook from his throat. It was a bloody mess. I finally cut the line and watched him drift away with barely a wiggle. I'm so sorry, I thought. It was just one of those things. Don't be mad. I felt like I was saying it to the whole kingdom of underwater creatures. This is not supposed to be about cruelty and death. I want to play with you -- a dangerous game, yes, but still a game. Seduction by a succulent worm. A hook in the lip, a good fight, an adventure. After all, my parrot does the same to me -- a seduction game of "grooming" but she pounces if I make a wrong move -- blood and bruises, scars of the game. I play, no matter.

The evening was still. The twilight sky reflected through the trees onto the surface. It made the shallow stream look bottomless. Hatching insects made circular ripples. And occasionally a streak would indicate the movement of something larger. My carp came by and I held the rod still so the worm wouldn't rouse his suspicions. Don't go, I whispered. About the trout -- the affair was too hot not to cool down... great fun... but it was just one of those things.

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