At The Time I Did Not Know

Of Course, Now I Am Too Old To Be Much Of A Fisherman, And Now Of Course I Usually Fish The Big Waters Alone, Although Some Friends Think I Shouldn't. Like Many Fly Fishermen In Western Montana Where The Summer Days Are Almost Arctic In Length, I Often Do Not Start Fishing Until The Cool Of The Evening. Then In The Arctic Half-light Of The Canyon, All Existence Fades To A Being With My Soul And Memories And The Sounds Of The Big Blackfoot River And A Four-count Rhythm And The Hope That A Fish Will Rise.

Each One Of Us Here Today Will At One Time In Our Lives Look Upon A Loved One Who Is In Need And Ask The Same Question: We Are Willing To Help, Lord, But What, If Anything, Is Needed? For It Is True We Can Seldom Help Those Closest To Us. Either We Don't Know What Part Of Ourselves To Give Or, More Often Than Not, The Part We Have To Give Is Not Wanted. And So It Is Those We Live With And Should Know Who Elude Us. But We Can Still Love Them - We Can Love Completely Without Complete Understanding.

Unless We Are Willing To Escape Into Sentimentality Or Fantasy, Often The Best We Can Do With Catastrophes, Even Our Own, Is To Find Out Exactly What Happened And Restore Some Of The Missing Parts.

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.

We Sat On The Bank And The River Went By. As Always, It Was Making Sounds To Itself, And Now It Made Sounds To Us. It Would Be Hard To Find Three Men Sitting Side By Side Who Knew Better What A River Was Saying.