Water is the way.  Of that I am sure.  As the seasons meld together, einter spring summer, fall, the glazed white of snow turs to the cleansing rains of autumn turn to the rabid heat of summer to the burnished gold of fall.  They change and as they do so does the water.  FRom thick and ik black in winter possibly brought on by the numbing col to the high muddy water of spring brought on by snow melt and rains to the chttering low water of summer brought on by heat and evaporation to the beautiful sinuous wrappings of fall as the world tends to become numb again.  And an angler changes with it.  In winter he is tough, warmed by a cup of coffee, cigattes, and adrenaline.  His frozen toes are vindicated by the occassional fish.  To sprng when the fish push to the edges, the hatches begin, and the world takes one deep refreshing breath.  The fish are moving and the angler cabn feel it.  To summer when water runs low as the hatches envelope the atmosphere and terrestrals become juicy morsels for the fish.  The water iss overr un yet secret pockets are found. to fall when the leaves fall, occasionally snag your fly, and the fish are gobbling every morsel in preperation for winter.  This is nthe time of streamers and big bugs.  The seasons change as does the fishing like inspiration.  In spring we are loquaacious and lascivious, in summer we think of love, in fall we let go and in winter we dream.  Water is the way and life changes witht he seasons.  I only pray I can live it with hope and alive plying my nearest river with piscatorial intent.