How Can A Question Be

Eventually, All Things Merge Into One, And A River Runs Through It. The River Was Cut By The World's Great Flood And Runs Over Rocks From The Basement Of Time. On Some Of The Rocks Are Timeless Raindrops. Under The Rocks Are The Words, And Some Of The Words Are Theirs. I Am Haunted By Waters.

A River, Though, Has So Many Things To Say That It Is Hard To Know What It Says To Each Of Us.

My Father Was Very Sure About Certain Matters Pertaining To The Universe. To Him All Good Things-trout As Well As Eternal Salvation-come By Grace And Grace Comes By Art And Art Does Not Come Easy.

If Our Father Had Had His Way, Nobody Who Did Not Know How To Fish Would Be Allowed To Disgrace A Fish By Catching Him.

In Our Family, There Was No Clear Line Between Religion And Fly Fishing. We Lived At The Junction Of Great Trout Rivers In Western Montana, And Our Father Was A Presbyterian Minister And A Fly Fisherman Who Tied His Own Flies And Taught Others. He Told Us About Christ's Disciples Being Fishermen, And We Were Left To Assume, As My Brother And I Did, That All First-class Fishermen On The Sea Of Galilee Were Fly Fishermen And That John, The Favorite, Was A Dry-fly Fisherman.