Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Fishing.

On grey winter days, if it's not raining, we may go to the river. There is nowhere so grey as the lower Fraser on a grey winter day. I could stand there for hours, absorbing it all, enjoying the quiet and closeness, but the younger members of the family get antsy for colorful things, or at least some modest commotion.

A police launch goes by. We are mesmerized by the parallel diagonals of the wake. I realize I have wondered since I was a child how they cut into equal lengths, equidistant apart. And what determines that distance? Do they have beginnings and endings? Are there always the same number striking a given point along the shore? If I could stand there for a while, watching, pondering, I might have answers. More likely I would have more questions.

I could, of course, bother to read (and perhaps even understand) something like this, but watching and pondering along the river is easier on the head. The answers may not arrive, but that's how fishing goes.

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