Give a man a rod…edit 1.0

[QDeathstar]

It's cooler now, beside the stream; my floating line lies traceless.
A mist  crawls down, spring-born in woody fell, spilling like milk.
The light, white breath of dying day shifts and shimmies
surface sprites above the drift; rising and falling, rising and falling.
You get to thinking: it's no good crying...never was.
Another cast or two before the sun gives up its ghosts
then I will fish no more today. My net hangs empty in the shallows.
What is fishing without fish? A moment now and then of joy
-- anticipation isn’t what it used to be-- but I need the hook
to pull me, tempt me, keep me to the task...or I am alone.
I see the line twitch but hear nothing. The mist mutes all.
Some days you just have to believe. A tugging from a distant fish
is like a message from you. Familiar feelings flood over me
whenever my rod tip bends and dips…or when a letter arrives.
Fish and letters; it’s been a while. Sometimes I think
there’s no fish here at all…but I'll be back tomorrow.  

tectak beside an Esk pool 2016

tektak, this is one of your better ones, for me, which means I can feel attached to it.

It's down to earth... I could easily grasp the emotion, it's no good crying... never was catches me. Nice hook.

Seems like growing old is a growing theme around these forums but the feelings you are able to conjure regarding the loss of appreciation of anticipation through age, and the timelessness of hope, makes this poem one of the better attempts.

However, the first several lines come off sounding like a tounge twister, they wear me out... if that was on purpose, making the reader feel "age", congrats... I felt old and tired after reading those lines. I feel you got too cute with the sounds. floating line lines traceless is especially difficult. giving up the ghost is also cliche.