Around the bend, where the trees arch and overhang the stream as to filter the light through to the water's surface, I saw him. He was casting an old bamboo rod delicately and short as to not get hung up. He looked quiet there, settled. His muted green vest matched his fishing hat. His waders were a dark cream color. I thought to call out to him but I knew he would not hear me over the sound of the running currents, all dissecting and rejoining again, as they do on the river. Like us. Disecting off on new adventures, moving swiftly around obstacles. Sometimes swirling and being stifled for a moment in a back eddy, but always somehow managing to rejoin again. That's what the water does in it's perpetual run to the ocean. That's what we do in our perpetual run. Surely, there is an ocean for us. That may be where I see him again.
I hope to rejoin with you all again in 2017. This past year had me disecting off on new adventures and, at times, held up in some back eddys. The water, however, was always there.