In the slanting sun of late afternoon the shadows of great branches reached from across the river, and the trees took the river in their arms. On the Big Blackfoot River above the mouth of Belmont Creek the banks are fringed by large Ponderosa pines. ~ Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. ~ Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It.Įventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The hardest thing usually to leave behind, as was the case now, can loosely be called the conscience. Unlike many Presbyterians, he often used the word beautiful. How can a question be answered that asks a lifetime of questions? ~ Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It.Īs for my father, I never knew whether he believed God was a mathematician but he certainly believed God could count and that only by picking up God’s rhythms were we able to regain power and beauty. And even more often, we do not have the part that is needed. Then, more often than not, the part that is needed is not wanted. Either we don’t know what part to give or maybe we don’t like to give any part of ourselves. So it is that we can seldom help anybody. The world is full of bast*rds, the number increasing rapidly the further one gets from Missoula, Montana.

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