life is an ocean wave
To the fly-caster on shore, waves of the stream seem to undulate. However, these are little more than imposters.
Some are cast by the hew of bedrock, becoming statuesque spouts over stone. Some are torn into eddies against the shore.
But all are lasting patterns with no flow, although fluid courses through them like an arc of water out a garden hose.
Like that hose whipped to untangle it, ocean waves race along the surface, leaving their host in place as they pass.
These ephemeral forms born of sun and wind are the pulse—not the body of water borrowed to crest or wake.
