In sleep you visit me. Most vulnerable then, in somnolent confusiom, I’m unable to banish you. You “stare” at me with that angry empty red eye socket, finning against the current, and scream,”why?”
I can only respond, “I don’t know why.” I only know I cannot stop. Don’t get me wrong, I feel really bad about it; kind of gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. But after a few more casts, I was able to bury the regret somewhere in my psyche. If I had just snipped the tippet and let you have the fly, in a few days the hook would have rusted away, and you could have kept your eye, although clearly damaged. But that didn’t occur to me. I just wanted that fly back, and I got it back, albeit with a bit of effort.
When I released you, we knew you were doomed, but “why” remains a mystery to you—and to me.