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Faith doesn't come from the good-time holidays and it doesn't come from fishing the caddis hatch. It arises out of trial or tributary runoff, the fire of a burning sword or a burning ball low in the winter sky. You will find the devout fishing the Arkansas year-round, those who have found reason to believe in her, those who have heard her speak when there was no one else there to listen. And while the fifth day seems sacred to many as the day for fish, whether angling or eating, I must confess I am a heretic. It's even better on Monday.
Greg Felt