my waders have been worn well.
not always consistently.
a season skipped.
but worn well.
they are paper thin
with neoprene booties.
i tie on my felt bottom boots.
they say we should move away from those.
we run the risk of transferring aquatic hitchikers.
stepping into the water a trickle of cold begins.
down the back of my calf. each leg.
kissing my kneecaps.
gigglingly cold.
rising slowly to body temperature.
catch my breath when crotch hits waves.
whoa.
give me a minute.
ready to fish.
later I slosh, slosh, slosh up to my car.
out comes the flood.
sandles.
sunglasses.
music and the road.
that's a good day.
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