A sweet and cool intimacy
There are times when it seems to me that small is beautiful and incomparably better than big. In this context I am not thinking of myself because, though I am undoubtedly small, it is beyond dispute that any traces of manly beauty, even if any were ever there, vanished whole decades ago.
I am thinking of rivers and the trout that swim in them. I shall come back to the trout and tell you why I like them on the (fairly) small side. Turning first to rivers, I find it hard to think of one that I might declare too small to fish, or of a brook, a beck or a burn that could seem to me so insignificant that I should not be happy to explore its possibilities with a fly-rod in my hand.
The immediate inspiration for that musing
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