I sit by the river where my grandfather once fished many moons ago. The water passed then and it passes now. So much water has passed; and time. The people from that time are all gone and certainly the fish are too. The water continues to flow from where it came to where it goes. I would look for the old cabin in the woods where he lived but I have no idea where it was; it was so long ago and I was so young. There is an old bridge that at one time trains used. It now sits rusted and abandoned. Life goes on one way or another. I never liked fishing but I like sitting by the water and the rocks with the sun behind the trees, slowly going down on its journey.