Four fishermen were fishing in the river when I walked there this afternoon. Two were seated on their chairs. The other 2 stood behind their fishing lines. Nobody had caught any fish yet. One of them was there in the river everyday for the last 10 days. “No fish” he always said to me and it was no different today.
All of them were looking at the river as the tide flowed upstream. What were they thinking while waiting for the fish to bite? One of them had the patience to go fishing everyday.
What is the essence of fishing? Is to commune with the elements? With the river? Is it just to pass the time since they have nothing else to do? A form idleness? The river and the fishing lines have their own stories. Maybe the fisherman wants to read them and remember.
The salmon tells its story when it returns to its place of birth.
From the Love of Stones:
“My name is Katharine Sterne. These are notes for me to follow...The beginning should be that of the stones, not of me, and that is what I have written. And that is what it should be. My life is part of the story of the Three Brethren, not the other way around. It is a question of perspective.”