The final paragraphs of Norman McClane's "A River Runs Through it."
Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades 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. That 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.
It is impossible to truly summarize what is so powerful about this ending to someone that hasn't read the book -- so if you haven't, go out and get a copy!
The story follows Norman McClane through his childhood and early adulthood as he grew up flyfishing in Montana. Everything in his -- and his family's -- life revolves around the fishing the rivers. Here he is, now an old man writing about his life and his family as they grew up together fishing the trout-filled waters. However, all of his family is now gone -- he is alone amongst the water. All he has are his memories. He closes with "I am haunted by the waters" -- a poignant ode to his life and family that now exist only as memories drawn out by the rivers that have played such a defining role in his life. It is the most painful, nostalgic, heartfelt closing -- and single sentence -- that I have ever read.
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