Securing the Line

A dry fly landed dead center on my chart, skittering across the paper crease. I halted. Stood rigid for two long breaths, watching its brittle legs twitch near my chimney bearings. Dead calm won't allow freeloaders on deck. I stepped forward, boots firm against the sill, and reached for a stray twist of dried twist-tie resting in the corner frame. Wire core, rough paper wrapping. I bent the stiff spine into a crude hook with my thumb, then swept the carcass clear off the margin into the void below. The paper stays clean.