November

Thanksgiving.

It was fun, the family went down to the farm, ate too much, and I wandered around for a few hours, taking pictures of the little wet-weather branch which runs behind the house (where I fell in, and fell in love, with water), the "old pond" (where I learned to fish, where I learned to fly-fish, and where I caught my first fish on a fly I tied myself, and where, as an eight or nine year old boy, seemed about as wild and remote as anywhere on the planet), and various other things which struck my interest at the moment.

Perhaps just the onset of winter, but wandering around like that on a place that's so familiar to you, you begin to get the sense of finality- the realization that things won't stay the same forever. That your life, that the world itself, is always dynamic, always changing, always altering and sometimes even re-inventing itself. Little remains truly static.