I used to think that somewhere along my way I lost touch, which seems to me now to be a rather superficial excuse for never having known just what 'my way' was, or to this day, is. And how can one 'lose touch' if 'touch', or the concept of it has never been quantified, at the very least, in my own, terribly subjective mind? Or, does any of that even matter, in the, you know, 'big picture'.

I do know that subjectivity isn't the problem. I would suppose that all human beings have their own customized lenses through which they view events and experiences; certainly this is true otherwise we'd all be sitting here lost in our individual cognitive processes, frustrated with time's apparent inability to help us figure it all out.

I have had this dream now for ever since I can remember, and the only reason I mention it is because I have it still, and did indeed revisit it again last night.

I am very young. I am riding my new red 3-speed Schwinn home from school, when, rounding a corner, I suddenly realize I am lost. Nothing looks familiar. The houses, and cars, and people, are different. Everything is wrong. I ride faster, hoping that I will see something I know, something that will show me the way. But every turn I make, every street I choose, is strange and new, By now I am beginning to wonder if I will ever make it home...

And then, I wake up.

But the dream goes on, and on.

I should go tie a fly. That damned river is rounding back into shape. It's been a long winter.

My coffee's cold.