The slate-grey sky divests itself and heavy droplets fall
The loch dissolves from mirror in pockmarked face of squall
The wind whips up white horses on the surface evenly
The open boat just weaves and bobs, an otter swimming free
Sitting there in silence, his features soaking wet
Determination glowers, he isn't beaten yet
The sound of rain upon his hood crackles like a fire
He cradles rod within cupped hand, experience inspires.
All upon a second, the twitch and shake of pole
Indicates the bait is taken, down in water's swirl
He pays out line, gently now, prudence must prevail
The battle joined, both sides must win, his hand against the scale
The line is now extended and the tension running high
His fixity of purpose is reflected in his eye
He reels some line in, firmly, rewarded all at once
A flash of silver at the surface, a splash, a leaping pulse
The line slides through the fingers, alive to subtle change
He plays the line, he draws it in, swift moments blur, engage.
He has his net out ready, he reels in all the line
A flick, a flash, he fills his net and lifts it out in time
The fresh wind from the hilltops, swaying trees and scouring loch
dies back, and rain gives way to pastel sun and drying rock
The fish, now documented, released to go its way
The fisherman, now sated, reflects upon his day.