Are
trout of this river's song, sharp in the current and vague on the flats? Do
trout dance for any reason but love, fanning a harp of water for the sheer gravity of a chance encounter with death, Clearing the surface in time to stop a mind from shattering distraction? Can
trout know the purity of the pools they mime in the deep mirrors of their scales? Who began this risky trip into the howl of a broken river? The small streams mother us all back to a speck in our brains called home on a trai...
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