In the company of pine
In the company of pine

In the company of pine

    I usually fish alone.   There are a few others I enjoy sharing water with; and I enjoy on occasion taking a friend out to introduce them to someplace new, as I graciously appreciate when that is done for me.

     Though on most occasions I go it alone, and to places where I’m likely to remain so.   It is there in the company of pine and cedar, that I arrive at an existence which teeters out of time, borders on the ethereal. 

          The hypnosis.  A meditation.  A remembering.

     Anymore, I fish an elusive spot on my way to work in downtown Seattle, where I ride Engine Co. 2.  Then my waders dry along with the wet hoses hanging in the firehouse.  On those mornings, fish rise with a dawning sun, and I cast to memory and  love– lost and found.  Reaching out to questions that take a lifetime to answer, to equations in the spaces between. 

     There, in the river, stillness and motion run together; and what was and is and will be becomes indistinguishable.  Indifferent.  Irrelevant.

     I no longer fish on my way home from the firehouse, too eager to see my baby boys again.  And it’s OK, though I don’t fish as often, anymore-  I decided a while ago not to get caught up with Time.  Time doesn’t exist on a river anyway.  It’s a construct I’ve joyfully left behind.   

          I learned that from water.

 -jw (photo by B. Simmons, of Watts on the upper Snoq.)