I am sucker for three things (well, more than three, but for now we'll just focus on these three): a good nature poem, a father and son sentiment, and good writing about fly fishing. Midcurrent has a managed to find all three in this poem by the (recently) late John Haines. Here is a taste:
Last evening I entered a pool
on the Blackfoot River
and cast to a late rise,
maybe the last of a perishing fall.Click through for the rest. In a similar vein, I should have some photos from a trip I took with my own father up by the end of the week, assuming I can stop watching basketball long enough to process the images.