Recently, I was brought to wonder how one tells a story gently. Robert Redford, as director, was the first auteur to come to mind; specifically, the Montana based fly-fishing period drama "A River Runs through It" came to mind.
Dear Jesse, as the moon lingers a moment over the bitterroots, before its descent into the invisible, my mind is filled with song. I find I am humming softly; not to the music, but something else; some place else; a place remembered; a field of grass where no one seemed to have been; except a deer; and the memory is strengthened by the feeling of you, dancing in my awkward arms.
My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things - trout as well as eternal salvation - came by grace; and grace comes by art; and art does not come easy.
But then a strange thing occurred. The last line of his narration. The last breath of the film, potentially supplants all my notions of gentleness.
I am haunted by waters.
Haunted? That's how we are left.
Can hauntings be gentle?