I know a spot on the river where a rush of white water collides and falls through large rocks and into a turquoise pool of a billion bubbles. Trout rise in the tail-out sipping their meals from the foam line. They are rarely large but always there. The Trail comes down to the river at this spot, thus it is often fished in vain. On the opposite bank, in a non-descript oak tree hangs a weather worn fishing vest with a sign reading “this was his favorite hole”. It has hung untouched for over a decade.

ZERO by Myron Michael

It was time to put everything where it should’ve been: books on the shelf, clothes in the hamper, dishes in the sink. When my apartment is clean and my bed is made I feel energized, ready to face the day, ready to run the gauntlet of life despite the many poles of adversity swinging to hinder my stride: then they were unemployment. It was a day of cleansing, of beginning anew.