To Jim From the River

Anglers Journal - - FIRST LIGHT - Reprinted with per­mis­sion of Cop­per Canyon Press.

Jim Har­ri­son 1937-2016

Still float­ing on the cur­rent, this last stretch be­fore the sea, like so many we fished to­gether through what seemed an end­less river of sum­mer af­ter­noons — this one as fa­mil­iar as it isn’t, hur­ry­ing more the fur­ther we go — our con­ver­sa­tions about the words of which things are made, stilled now to be­come just the things them­selves, the purl­ing and the rings of wa­ter reach­ing out from our casts, heard now only with our eyes as I stand in the bow, watch­ing my fly float high on its hackle along the grassy bank, care­ful not to let my gaze drift back to where you would al­ways be, sit­ting be­hind me, a wreath of cig­a­rette smoke — the strange feel­ing you said you some­times had, let­ting a trout go after all the con­cen­tra­tion of catch­ing it — more like Mozart than Wag­ner, you said, your good right eye watch­ing for the rise of a life your blind left, not too far down­stream, al­ready ab­sorbed in that dark river light into which we’re con­stantly row­ing.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from USA

© PressReader. All rights reserved.