I could wish for no more than to do justice to the instruction I have received from moving waters. Even as I think of the Housatonic River, the Gualala River, the Eel, of the Truckee and of Rising River, of the open sea itself, the care of the situation which so lately cramped me washes away. It seems that there is a stream of limitless meaning flowing into the life of a man if he can but patiently entrust himself to it. There is no hurry, only the need to be true to what comes to mind, and to explore the current carefully in which one presently moves. There is a constant fluency of meaning in the instance in which we live. One may learn of it from rivers in the constancy of their utterance, if one listens and is still. They speak endlessly in an univocal exhalation, articulation silence.
Henry Bugbee, The Inward Morning: A Philosophical Exploration in Journal Form, with a new introduction by Edward F. Mooney (Athens: The University of Georgia Press, 1999), 83.
The Literary Fly Fisher 
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