Is It Opening Day, Yet?

A hint of warmth.  The dogs stir, noses in the air.  Is it opening day, yet?  

I stare at my rods, open a fly box, dust off the "lucky hat."  The girls amble to the back door are we heading to the river?  

I drum my fingers on my fly tying desk, look at guide books, dream of far away lakes in Montana, all the rivers I have yet to read, wade, and yes, fall into.

Murphy, dear sweet Murphy, who has fished with me for fourteen seasons, we will have one more, one more summer on the rivers.  Dear sweet Murphy.

Murphy's day.