I Am Haunted By Waters.

All Good Things Come By Grace, And Grace Comes By Art, And Art Does Not Come Easy.

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.

So It Is That We Can Seldom Help Anybody. Either We Don't Know What Part To Give Or Maybe We Don't Like To Give Any Part Of Ourselves. Then, More Often Than Not, The Part That Is Needed Is Not Wanted. And Even More Often, We Do Not Have The Part That Is Needed.

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.

...life Every Now And Then Becomes Literature...as If Life Had Been Made And Not Happened.