She’d pined for the creek where she’d fished. Riding to the old bridge on her horse, her fishing rod fitting nicely in an old gun scabbard her dad had given her.
She had heard there was a new bridge and fish were no longer running in the creek. Sad, she thought as she drove on the gravel road towards the memories.
She had heard there was a new bridge and fish were no longer running in the creek. Sad, she thought as she drove on the gravel road towards the memories.
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She could see she was being watched from the atop of the steel girders. If the osprey were nesting here, it was a sure sign there were fish in the creek. Good thing she’d brought her fishing rod.
| Ann Edall-Robson Author, Photographer, Lover of Life "Capturing moments others may never get to experience." | Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Prompt - April 26, 2018 - Write a story about fishing from any angle. |
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