So, that baby got born.


Everthing where it’s supposed to be and nothing extra. That wild woman survived it, and so did the nursing staff around her, so good there. That baby is about as good a one as I ever saw, and you get a real nice feeling just looking at his little old face. He don’t fuss overmuch and is a generally agreeable fellow so far. My wife is over the moon on him and I guess I am too.




I don’t much feel like writing now, which is how it is when life asserts itself and just now I feel as though life has got me by the lapels and is shaking my shoulders and shouting into my face real loud.

I can’t hear myself think, which makes for poor writing.




I do feel like a salmon muscling and thrashing his way up a hard running stream, sometimes drilling fast in the depths, between rocks and under the deadfall trees, and at  others leaping up into the harsh light and the unforgiving air, trying to clear the falls.


It becomes clear to me that there is a difference between living and just waiting for the next thing to happen.




I have to say that in a way becoming a grandfather is every bit as profound a feeling as it was becoming a father. I looked at that new baby that come out of my baby and it struck me that I was truly just one more breath of the universe, just an inhale and an exhale and I’ll be born and gone and it’s someone else’s turn. Not in a bad way, it just got laid out clear for me in a way that every cell in my body seemed to understand and accept as true.

Maybe when I get to the quiet waters at the head of the stream I will be battered and broken, my shining scales dulled, the light dying in my eyes and I will do one last thing and then drift off into the shallows and cease my efforts. Knowing that does not scare me, nor does it seem unfitting.

And for today I can yet leap in the air, where I gleam and throw off glorious colors for a brief moment before dropping again into the fast moving waters that swallow me from sight.