Fishing

I have been trying to think of times in my life when I have been completely at ease with myself. I don't think that such a state is possible for me, there has always been the "what if?" lingering in the back of my mind, the regret of having missed an opportunity, and the more i think about it, the more I realise that my upbringing had a great deal to do with it. However i don't wish to air my family publicly, some things are best left unsaid anyway, and thrusting blame for one's failings upon someone else is pointless. At the end of the day we choose our own directions and some seem able to rise above the influence of others no matter how strong that pull might have been.
The closest I ever got to real inner peace I guess was when I went fishing. In my youth, fishing was quite an obsession with me and whenever I could, I would gather my very basic gear and wander the lengths of the overgrown river that flowed through the village. It was not so much a river but more of a stream that flowed down from the Cotswolds and joined the River Avon, but for me it was integral to my development.
Fishing to me was a solitary activity and I would often leave the house long before anyone else was awake and spend the day alone with the river and the wildlife. I got to know it very well and can still remember the colours that depicted the mood of the seasons. The crystal clarity of the summer and the light brown soup of the winter floods, the green opacity of the algal blooms and the greyness of long winters, were all part of the experience.
Actually catching fish was never important and anyhow they all got returned. It was for me a time of contemplation, a time of peace when i was not criticised or expected to do anything at all. I was myself and there were times when that was the most wonderful thing that I could imagine.
There was one stretch of the river, quite close to the confluence, where it ran straight and deep. This was the run up to a long gone mill, and a weir took the overspill down to a shallow pool and then onto the normal course. I never saw another soul here and it was along way from any extraneous noise. For me it was probably the most peaceful place that I knew then. I would it on the bank, among the monumental stinging nettle beds and gaze into the deep water. I'd imagine that it was infinitely deep, and now and then, I would be almost overwhelmed by an urge to jump into the water. It seemed so peaceful, and so calming and soothing, calling me towards it like a siren. Then the moment would pass and I remember a coldness replacing that feeling and I would pack up my things and leave. I can still hear the sounds of that strange place, i can see the colour of the water and smell the sweetly bitter smell of the broken nettle stems, and i still recall the power of that desire to slip into the water. Perhaps it was the inner me offering a solution to the problem of being me.
I don't go fishing much these days, and when i do it is usually in places where there are lots of people. Maybe one day, i will seek out that magical place and probably find it a huge disappointment.