It rains all night after the beat down by the big fish, and it rains off and on the next day. You come in under the clouds in late afternoon.
The world is glittering and fragrant.
You launch at an abandoned campsite closer to the drakes.
You tied up a fresh drake muddler in an attempt at a fresh start.
Down the shoreline to the drake grounds.
You plumb the shallows with the muddler.
A rainbow comes out.
The clouds make borders around the ridges.
You fish the reed lines with a drake dry. You bear the sad memories.
The drakes are spotty, but there's a fish in there.
The rain comes back.
You find another small rainbow, but the drakes stay low and slow.
You stick it out and stick one more fish.
The rain stops, and you do, too. Slow evening. You think you'd rather hook a big one and lose it than not hook one at all.
The healing has begun.
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