The drake hatch is over. You'll do something different at the lake this evening.
Before you go, you drive to the other side of the river to see the damage done by the recent fire. You reflect on the inevitability of change.
At the lake, wildflowers accent the landscape.
You launch at the channel again, but take a left this time into the south end. You haven't been here in awhile. Your plan is to work the shoreline with a muddler.
This is one of your favorite things to do, and one of your favorite shorelines. You take your time.
The light goes through its changes. You enter the green zone.
Then, imperceptibly, you enter the blue zone.
You've made it halfway down the west side, crossed the lake and begun down the east side, without a fish. Or any sign of a fish. The lake is lifeless.
You're composing a blog post on the subject of getting skunked when you make one more of the hundreds of casts you've already made and come up on something alive. It's a lively brown. You savor the moment.
You continue to cast your way around the shoreline toward the truck, but there are no more fish to be found.
You admit that you're usually expecting a feast.
But it's good to be reminded that sometimes it's just a dash of seasoning that makes the whole meal.