Mia felt a surge of emotion as she looked out over the water, assessing the river and her mood. She felt a calm wash over her, determining her course. Slowly she moved upstream, her felt-soled boots sliding over the slippery pebbles as she made her way to the middle of the stream. When she reached the center she stopped and felt the gravel shift and settle in the silt beneath her feet. Lifting her chin, she took a good look around.

On one side the current ran quick and strong in brilliant, shallow water. On the other side dense shrubs that hung over the edge of the bank provided cover where fish could hide and feel safe. She remembered back to when she was sick and thought she might die. It was like standing in the middle of a river, wondering which bank she needed to prepare for. On one side life moved on. On the other, all was stillness. She had felt so alone and afraid, not knowing to which bank she would drift.

Now she was standing knee deep but steady in the river, facing the current head-on, her rod at the ready.

Mia cast her line far out to the fast, moving water. The line unfurled slowly, moving like liquid on wind to present her fly. Her breath held as she watched a trout rise then sip her fly down. Instantly she felt the electric current of life travel up the filament to the rod directly to her heart.

It was not a large fish; there wasn't a great struggle. Mia played her gently to the net. She bent to meet the fish at the river's surface and held the trout with hands as cold as the water, crooning assurances as she removed the tiny hook. Dark eyes stared back as the brookie went still in her hands.

Mia's head filled with the voice of the river, pulsing loud in her ears as she felt the timeless connection with the fish, the water, and all living things. Opening her hands the fish remained still in the water, her spots shiny against the gravel. Then in a flash, she was gone.

Mia rose slowly and looked out at the river that rolled on through time. She was going to make it, she knew that now. She was a real fly fisher. She was a survivor.

She turned and headed back toward Stuart in the deeper water of the pocket. He was aware of her beside him but he didn't speak. The wind gusted, rippling the water and showering them with colored leaves like confetti. They set their casts out over the water and together slipped into a four-count rhythm. Side by side they moved in tandem. Their lines whispered through the air and their flies danced on the rushing stream. With each cast she felt her worry of leaving flow from her heart down the thin line to disappear into the river.

It was time. Quietly, in the silence Mia had come to cherish between them, she drew in her line and unhurriedly walked away over the striated rocks and through the current, leaving Stuart alone in their private space. He paused, eyes on the river. Then, with an upswing, he cast forward again.

Before leaving the river, she bent to dip her hand into the cool waters.

"Remember me," she murmured, sending her spirit to join the infinite flow of death and rebirth, of beginnings and endings, into the current. Mia lifted her face to the final moments of this perfect day, welcoming the last rays of light.

*www.MarkNepo.com.

end.