A baby buggy, rusted away to only the frame. It sits along the stream, perhaps thrown away by the family that lived here so many years ago.
The last few days have found me walking small streams, some familiar some some not. The familiar ones are old friends saying glad to see you back, while the new ones say welcome, soon to be new friends I'm sure.
Fishing is the main reason for being there but the observations made along the stream add so much more to the outing.
As I finish this piece, I'm going to enjoy a breakfast with Jeanette, then head out for Pennsylvania for my annual stay in Penns Woods.
The new stream. One would think to have many brookies, but none were to come to hand this day.
This old factory. How many craftsmen worked here. I wonder if they fished the stream that flows by the shop.
There were no brookies taken this day. But the stream gave up one of its residents. A handsome wild brown. To wonderful and crafty a brown to have fallen for such an ugly fly.
A beautiful day drawing to a close. A promise of a better one tomorrow.
