Re: I Met Myself Last Night...
Last night, during one of my allowed "hiatus hours" from my cyber-leash, I pulled down the next installment of the late Montgomery Jackson's journaling of the life and times of a man-- me --during years now growing more distant by the minute. During the two years covered by this journal, I had my share of "hit or miss" moments of a decided lack of the virtue known as "patience." This is especially true, even today, when recovery from a hospital stay limits my activity levels.
So, this morning, I took to the trail along the river, leaving a note as to my departure, destination and estimated time of arrival back at home, so as not to worry The Speaker of the House-- aka my wife, Debbi. The path atop the river bank is hard against the water's edge, and never once has it failed to soothe me when a life spent battling cancer and other matters start to overload an already "cluttered" mind.
One of the best aspects to the morning's wanderings just as the first light was breaking in the East was that I could watch the river come alive with eyes whose sighted future is now more guaranteed than they were two week ago. The doctors have done their work, and now the healing part is up to me. It's a process of "patience," and that's still one virtue I've yet to master.
As I reached my usual end point in my path wanderings, the sound of a few splashy rises in the river caught my attention. The last of the evening's Hex hatch was just tailing off, and the trout were "cherry-picking" what few bugs were left on the water. It's a rare thing to be able to watch the last takes in the coming daylight rather than in the sheer dark of night.
So, I did as I'd been long taught to do... I sat and watched the closing acts of the "river show." As I rose to leave, I was reminded of how the late Montgomery Jackson had been akin to my earliest teachers-- my grandfather and his fishing partner, "Doc" Holship. They all were "river watchers" who studied their pools and were patient to a fault. The latest journal had brought to the forefront the lessons of patience, and maybe now, I'm finally growing a little of my own brand of "patience."
Making the turn into the two-track back to the house, it also dawned on me how much of a gift that the little cabin known as "Trail's End" truly is, and how blessed I am to have the supplemental histories that are the late Montgomery Jackson's journaling of the "Lad" that my elders frequently called "the kid" or "Buck." The cabin has given me a sense of purpose in returning the place to its former glory, and the journals have given me food for thought, and a base from which to work on refurbishing and building a better "me..."
As I've often said, even at age 60, I remain a "work in progress..."
Last edited by hairwing530; 06-23-2013 at 01:16 PM.