THESE LATE-SUMMER NIGHTS
Moonrise to the East, digitally enhanced a bit
Ah, these summer nights, with the moon early rising!
(Of course it is rising later and later, and it is waning when I write this.)
Earlier this evening the osprey put on his aerial acrobatic show—hovering, dropping, pulling up at the last instant, climbing, soaring, fluttering in mid-flight, then plummeting like a stone, crashing into the water, rising in a shower of spray, all without catching fish.
Me, I got two small bass on a nymph. Gladly would I share, but the wise old osprey won't come near me.
So many nights he goes to bed hungry. How many misses comprise his evening hunt? Plenty. And a cheer goes round the lake and from its docks when he nails a fish, and flaps heavily away with it clutched in his piercing talons.
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