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Show RTVER and the moon, the cycles of the changing seasons. I no longer felt suicidal or self destructive and was embarrassed that I'd sunk so low into misery and self pity. The idea that I was gambling my life while seeking salvation on the river lost its appeal. I had no desire to be dead by drowning. I'd come to terms with being alone. It was the price of my freedom, and I was certainly free. I was thinking about this one afternoon when it crossed my mind that I knew nothing about dying. I'd never even come close. I'd never been in a car wreck or even done so much as break a bone. Still, I'd always been afraid of dying, and like many of my generation was certain that I'd die young. "Live fast, love hard, die young," should have been tattooed on my chest. I'd once heard that death is always with us, standing just six feet to the left, and it seemed especially true in my tiny shell of a boat, but death had never reached out to grab me. There was something profound and important in this small revelation, but I couldn't figure out what it might be. The days grew longer. Drifting was a fine pastime, but even it got boring. Long stretches of the river are remarkably the same and when the scenery does change, it does so very slowly. I'd read or write or play guitar. Toward noon, I'd tie up to an island or beach and stretch my legs and let Thor run wild. I'd cook something or climb over the levees and look out over the vast stretches of farmland, the young fields covered with new corn and soybeans as far as the eye could reach. Or I might bait a hook and let the hopeless line trail along behind my boat while I contemplated the dark and strange waters: deep in the murk there were bizarre prehistoric creatures like the alligator gar, a beast with the head and jaws of an alligator and the body of a fish. The alligator gar lived in the -194- |