If Our Father Had Had His Way,

Poets Talk About "spots Of Time", But It Is Really The Fishermen Who Experience Eternity Compressed Into A Moment. No One Can Tell What A Spot Of Time Is Until Suddenly The Whole World Is A Fish And The Fish Is Gone.

Now Nearly All Those I Loved And Did Not Understand When I Was Young Are Dead, But I Still Reach Out To Them.

In Our Family, There Was No Clear Line Between Religion And Fly Fishing.

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.

When Exhausted And Feeling Sorry For Yourself, At Least Change Your Socks.