As For My Father, I Never Knew

I Sat There And Forgot And Forgot, Until What Remained Was The River That Went By And I Who Watched. On The River The Heat Mirages Danced With Each Other And Then They Danced Through Each Other And Then They Joined Hands And Danced Around Each Other. Eventually The Water Joined The River, And There Was Only One Of Us. I Believe It Was The River.

Slowly We Became Silent, And Silence Itself If An Enemy To Friendship.

Eventually, All Things Merge Into One, And A River Runs Through It.

Of Course, Now I Am Too Old To Be Much Of A Fisherman, And Now Of Course I Usually Fish The Big Waters Alone, Although Some Friends Think I Shouldn't. Like Many Fly Fishermen In Western Montana Where The Summer Days Are Almost Arctic In Length, I Often Do Not Start Fishing Until The Cool Of The Evening. Then In The Arctic Half-light Of The Canyon, All Existence Fades To A Being With My Soul And Memories And The Sounds Of The Big Blackfoot River And A Four-count Rhythm And The Hope That A Fish Will Rise.

A Mystery Of The Universe Is How It Has Managed To Survive With So Much Volunteer Help.