Last night I dreamt I drove my neighbors piano up Spearfish Canyon in the dark to a hole below Savoy. The road was closed because of the snow, but the full moon turned the snow pink, like cotton candy. When I got to the spot, whatever carnival they were having was closed too, but all the lights were still on. At a wide spot in the road, I was watching the Ferris Wheel sway in the canyon wind and backed the piano into a snow bank, which sounded like throwing a cat on a palette of corn flakes. How could I do this to my neighbor’s piano? I found some garbage bags in the piano bench and jumped in the snow. That’s when I noticed my fly rod poking out of the bank. I pulled it out it in four broken pieces. Now I was steaming. So I rumbled through the junk in the bench and beneath the piano hood/door. My neighbor had to have stashed a rod somewhere in this mess. All I found was some purple duct tape and a broom. I snapped the head off the broom and attached my reel to the handle with the purple duct tape. Somehow, I could cast well—real well. After catching nothing all night, however, I tried drifting one beneath the ice in some rapids. Wham. The broom handle suddenly turned to soft rubber, like I was tugging on a giant stick of licorice. Whatever I’d hooked dove lower beneath the ice causing me to work around ledge so as not to sever the line. When I put my foot on the ice, the ledge kept cracking and breaking away, so I backed off, not wanting to soak my garbage bags. Just as I was about to toss the whole rig in and go home, the line went limp, which allowed me to strip in from beneath the ice a semi-conscious brown trout with hair like a Siamese cat. As I unhooked my fly from of its bifurcated tongue, the end of a turkey tail feather waved at me from inside the monster’s throat. That’ll do, I decided. When I got back to the piano, I threw the garbage bag waders into a carnival popcorn machine and headed back to town. Funny thing is, I didn’t even know my neighbor had a piano. When will winter end?