I'm Chels. I blog about science, art, tennis, and my adventures in journalism. Officially, I'm a Science Writer at Brookhaven National Lab and I blog for them, too. Unofficially, I'm pretty awesome.

Or, you know, owsome.

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A River Runs Through It

Now, nearly all those I loved and did not understand in my youth are dead – even Jesse. But I still reach out to them. Of course, now I’m too old to be much of a fisherman. And now I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn’t. But when I am alone in the half-light of the canyon, all existence seems to fade to a being with my soul and memories, and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River, and a four-count rhythm, and the hope that a fish will rise.

Eventually all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words. And some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters.

The final scenes of this movie always make me want to fly fish. Or, more accurately, it makes me want to stand knee-deep in a river in a canyon and finally know all the things I’m grateful for.

It also makes me wish for Robert Redford to tell me stories around a campfire or on a porch somewhere in the evening.