Posted by | April 23, 2012 | On the water, Poetry | 6 Comments


I pull up my chair most mornings and find no words. The sun is up. Traffic is purposefully outbound. I watch. Drink coffee. Listen through open windows. Birds. The neighbor’s dog. Other morning sounds. Still no words. Like undisciplined watercolor brushstrokes, the days are running together in odd hues.

I’ve been seeking out far-flung sorties for fish and fellowship with comrades-in-arms, collecting handfuls of crumpled receipts from dinners and beers on the road and placing 8 a.m. calls home to the kids before they climb on the bus. Still no words. I am paying for inspiration in more ways than one.

Of course, when they come I’m rarely ready. I’ll be figuring where I should travel next and what it’s going to cost me. Or standing in the current, river-right, my line and fly slack downstream. Or simply pulling up my chair to start another day — and suddenly they’ll be in the sun, wondering where the hell I’ve been.

Photo by Grant Taylor

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  • Susan says:


    This is beautiful. The words definitely found you for this one. I can totally relate to this. This writing gig is new to me, but some days I have so many ideas running around my mind it’s overwhelming. Then the moment I pull up my chair, they have stopped flowing. A hazard of trying to write while being a full-time mama 😉

    Lots of Love-

    • fishingpoet says:

      Thanks, Susan. Yes, it’s surprising how heavy the unwritten word can be…especially with young’uns at home 🙂

  • Ross aka the flytyinfreak says:

    Mothers day is right around the corner bro. other than celebrating the wonderful women in your life there is a caddis hatch to explore. I know I’m going to do just that on the Henry’s Fork.

  • Erin Block says:

    So much here, Matt. So good.

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