It looks calm and peaceful. But everything is hurtling at breakneck speed through time and space; each day dies a little more, each coming of summer dark presages the impending onset of the season of darkness. The trout know, and rush to intercept the swirling fragments of life that will stave off starvation in the ice time. They fight the hook, twist frantically to reenter their element, to obey their instinctive drive not just for freedom but for time, precious time. I fish calmly in the middle of it all, going a thousand miles an hour.