We Can Love Completely What We Cannot

The Hardest Thing Usually To Leave Behind, As Was The Case Now, Can Loosely Be Called The Conscience.

He Told Us About Christ's Disciples Being Fisherman, And We Were Left To Assume...that All Great Fishermen On The Sea Of Galilee Were Fly Fisherman And That John, The Favorite, Was A Dry-fly Fisherman.

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.

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

I Had As Yet No Notion That Life Every Now And Then Becomes Literature—not For Long, Of Course, But Long Enough To Be What We Best Remember, And Often Enough So That What We Eventually Come To Mean By Life Are Those Moments When Life, Instead Of Going Sideways, Backwards, Forward, Or Nowhere At All, Lines Out Straight, Tense And Inevitable, With A Complication, Climax, And, Given Some Luck, A Purgation, As If Life Had Been Made And Not Happened.