Brown Trout

~Karen Knight You were more beautiful breathing in a chalk stream of sunlight than this damaged rainbow, smoked in native timber shavings, garnished with pepper berries, bush tucker spice. It's impossible to set my knife and fork onto your skin of spotted halos. Did the angler see the clean blade of your belly when you leapt at his lure of mayfly nymph? You are nature's only creation when rubbed by chefs with Lark's Distillery Apple Schnappes. Worthy of a wooden plaque in the Anglers Hall of Fame you are the essence of Tasmania the purest strain of sea-run trout sharing a wall with your ancestors who as eggs, were carried in a billy can on horseback, to be laid in a gentle lowland stream to hatch. With the blood of an orange I squeeze forgiveness over the history of patterns on your back; for the baritone slurp of your dying as you mouth our thick, human air. ~~~~~ Next: Winter Solstice