I Am Haunted By Waters.

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.

Probably Most Catastrophes End This Way Without An Ending, The Dead Not Even Knowing How They Died...,those Who Loved Them Forever Questioning "this Unnecessary Death," And The Rest Of Us Tiring Of This Inconsolable Catastrophe And Turning To The Next One.

At Sunrise Everything Is Luminous But Not Clear. It Is Those We Live With And Love And Should Know Who Elude Us. You Can Love Completely Without Complete Understanding.

One Of Life's Quiet Excitements Is To Stand Somewhat Apart From Yourself And Watch Yourself Softly Becoming The Author Of Something Beautiful Even If It Is Only A Floating Ash.

Ahead And To The West Was Our Ranger Station - And The Mountains Of Idaho, Poems Of Geology Stretching Beyond Any Boundaries And Seemingly Even Beyond The World.