Allergy season is kicking off. Couldn’t sleep for lack of breathing, so I’m standing on the edge of a Vermont river casting with a fishing rod into the cold, rapid water.
I should be exercising – out for a run or lifting heavy things – but allergies are quite the convenient excuse. I should be doing mundane tasks; cleaning the kitchen, starting a load of laundry. Hell, I should be at church. Normally, this time on a Sunday morning finds me among the congregants at the old white church on the town green.
Instead of doing what I should, I find myself here on the banks of the Brewster River, confirming an absence of fish. Sometimes nothing is caught, no matter what pattern of fly you drift down the river.
Drifting is what my mind is doing, too. So, with the roar of the rushing rapids in my ears, I hold thoughts for a moment or two as they tumble by like the water through the rocks.
Thoughts of water, of fishing, of birds. Sunrise, breezes, and Creation. Mentors, guides, and friends. A million thoughts rush my mind; here and gone in an instant, but still a pleasant flow like the crystal water through these river rocks.
The fishing rod has been stowed, and is replaced with a tumbler of hot coffee. It’s a fine place to be on a Sunday morning. Standing riverside. Contemplating. Remembering. Searching out salvation somewhere in my coffee mug…..
