The only thing that compares to fishing the creeks is looking for stars. Watching the colours. The blue and green in the creeks. The river of light across the sky. Standing on shore, watching ghosts. Waiting for a bite or a falling star. It would be easy to submit to either. To stop watching and cast into the foam. Leap between Andromeda and Perseus. Yet my feet remain on the ground, chasing the light and speckled trout behind every rock.