Some crap I wrote a long time ago....I thought I was busy then. Ha!

My feet are cold and move through the gin clear waters like two frozen cinderblocks attached to my hip with 2 x 4's. I try hard to stalk through the crunchy, brown, winter woods without the forest clearing THUD...THUD... of a city boy who, try as he may, only gets to spend as many days a year in the wilderness as he has numb and cracked fingers on his red, frozen hands. Moving quietly through the river is even more of a challenge with giant, Frankenstein-ian, week's salary gone, brand-name, all the doo-dads and technologically advanced, waterproof wading boots-that only serve to separate me from feeling the uneven and lively streambed. It's like being in a sensory deprivation tank from the waist down, and makes it hard to slip silently into the water as I crunch and bump my way up to the next hole. The fish are surprisingly not disturbed today, as it has been cold and snowy, and has cooled the river and filled it to it's banks. There's still several inches of snow on the north banks and ice collects on the fringe of tiny waterfalls. The fish are down deep, and nearly motionless. Later in the day the sun will warm the stream, and give insects a reason to live, as they emerge from the cold depths to sacrifice their short airborne lives with no thoughts but the survival of their offspring and their species. But, long before the insects rise, procreate, and fall in exhaustion to feed the awakened trout, I will be gone, not able to return for what always feels like an eternity. A previous engagement calls, as it always does. Life these days mostly seems like one previous engagement after another, with barely time to reflect before the next is due. They compound, and multiply, and procreate until life is nothing but a frenzy of previous engagements, one after the other, only relenting for so long to allow us to catch our breath enough to keep breathing.