thinkin about swans

“...getting as far as we can is the best we can, more than one way home, ain’t no right, ain’t no wrong, you’ll find your own from where you are, from where you’ve gone...”

olddog/newtricks, songs of the new millennium

i was reading a deaddrift inner office memo by the publisher the other night, a long rambling thing about “the cognitive interface” or something. he went on about his newest project using the psychological principles underlying human personality and communication, about this is an attempt at constucting user interfaces that proact (instead of react) and adapt to human needs. interesting reading and i am glad there was no test after for it went on to describe his current work in continuing on the intriguing possibility of a digital, multisensory personality system that would encapsulate the basic graphical, vocal, mental and attitudinal characteristics of a person. he just won’t give up on the “intuitive web” idea either...and this got me sleepy as most office memos do read late at night....

and the image of the swan came back to me. from last fall. from the fishing trip to missouri. there was a low, misty, coolish breeze in about 30 acre quarry; full of water about 60 feet deep, up against the large rock wall dam. just me all alone on the water in the bellyboat with the quarrymen working the big boys toys on the other side, humpin through another quarry day. and me on the other side alone but for a swan. lonely swan. broken wing living there all summer and now the north winds are beginning, living on a spit of land with a few bushes and one overhanging, small cottonwood for shelter. and the winter coming and unable to fly away south with the rest of the group. rare for swans there. he just gave me lots of room and i paddled around and he paddled around. and i caught 12 to 16 in. bass and large bluegills and rockbass irregularly in my trolling goof casting technique. just relaxin with the dam blockin the wind and me in the calm water cruisin and kickin flippers and thinkin about swans and me and losses and so little gains and my worries and my art and my losin and so little winnin. and then i caught a few more on every fly i put on. each did its work, none rejected, just many slams and me watchin the line jump and not reactin, no hurry, no one to judge, just let em bump the fly and jolt my arm. no barbs easy releases. catch em not catchem no difference the jolt from the fly to the hand is enough. tells me they are there, truly there. tells me the flies work fine, just teasin em. too lazy to fight em. only the occassional slam and a surprized self hooked giant bluegill would throb the rod and demand attention in the here and now. then toss it back in and troll paddle up and down the face of the rocks and worry about swans and winter coming and havin a broken wing and so far from home.