Two weeks into winter and I’ll already be thinking about spring. The snow melting. Long days of sunlight. Hungry pike feeding in the shallows.

Springtime will find me standing in a boat chasing pike but my mind will turn to the upcoming summer. The bugs dying down. The greening of the land. Casting smaller flies to rising fish.

And then in summer walking along a grayling stream in the middle of August, sweltering in the heat, the afternoon sun beating down, I’ll inevitably find my thoughts wandering to crisp fall mornings, bird dogs, and the return of ravenous fish.

But the only thoughts I have in autumn are about how I wish it would last forever.

Never does though . . . never does.