fly fishing in the Savage River during winter

The River’s Icy Clutch

In the river’s icy clutch,
Snow falls soft, silence much,
Savage River’s winding flow,
Where the wise trout lie low.

Lines cast in the winter storm,
In the cold, fly fishers form,
Beneath the gray, a dance of flies,
In the hope a trout will rise.

White flakes cloak the river’s edge,
Anglers tread the snowy ledge,
Nature’s breath, cold and raw,
In each cast, wonder and awe.

In the hush of falling snow,
Rhythms of the river slow,
A solitary quest, serene,
In the wild, unseen.

Trout beneath the icy stream,
Elusive as a fleeting dream,
Yet in the storm’s embrace,
Fly fishing finds its place.

On the Savage, time suspends,
Where river, snow, and spirit blends,
In the quiet winter’s glow,
Life and nature gently flow.

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