With every post I reflect and draw inspiration from the monthly writings of A Sand County Almanac.  Rereading June, I can’t help but think of my brother.  It’s not my intent to get personal, yet it feels false to drum up inspiration when Leopold’s entry reminds me of loss.  And that’s why I cherish June; it helped me understand and give voice–I read it at my brother’s funeral–to life’s subtleties.  Even today, 15 years later, it continues to read like an allegory on the meaning of life.

I cannot help feeling a little omniscient posting the “meaning of life”, but it’s there and I recommend everyone read June, and read it again.  Set aside some time.  Let your trout line and fly dry in the afternoon air.  Five minutes should do.  Then–for prudence sake–a little longer.

I shall now confess to you that none of those three trout had to be beheaded, or folded double, to fit their casket.  What was big was not the trout, but the chance.  What was full was not my creel, but my memory.  Like the white-throats, I had forgotten it would ever again be aught but morning on the fork.  –Aldo Leopold














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