It Is Those We Live With And

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.

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.

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.

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.

So It Is That We Can Seldom Help Anybody. Either We Don't Know What Part To Give Or Maybe We Don't Like To Give Any Part Of Ourselves. Then, More Often Than Not, The Part That Is Needed Is Not Wanted. And Even More Often, We Do Not Have The Part That Is Needed.