The Covid Reflections of Edoardo “Fast Eddie” Baladini

Before my Covid confinement, my life had been flowing along without a ripple, like the clear pools of the Willowemoc on a summer's day.

Willowemoc Creek

When we were young and carefree, my friends and I often journeyed to the legendary fly fishing waters of New York state up around Roscoe, casting our flies through the cool morning mist, coaxing rainbows, browns and native brookies to rise and attack the imitations we had worked so hard to create. It's a tranquil pastime, fly fishing, at least until you hook one. Then, it's exhilarating – your nerve endings on fire, your line, your connection to your prey, charged like a live wire. Only when the battle is over, and your trout is safely netted and in the creel can you allow yourself the luxury of a slow, deep breath.

There's nothing like it, really. Read the complete short story here.