There was a pull-off from the road that led down to the river. I was lucky that evening, and just before it got too late to fish, I reeled in a large steelhead trout which I cleaned and then grilled on my small hibachi with just a little salt and pepper. It was the most delicious meal I had ever enjoyed, and as I stood beneath the stars, I offered my thanks for the gracious gift.
I had built a small fire and rolled out my sleeping bag, but in the distance now I could hear the whining engine sound of an oncoming truck. The sound grew louder over the course of what seemed like many minutes, until it was almost upon me. Then it began to diminish, taking just as long to fade as it had to intensify. When I could hear it no longer, I was left with the sound of the river, melodiously streaming by adjacent to my little campground.
I felt that there was something important that I had been shown, but I could not for the life of me identify what that might be. After a while, I grew tired pondering it, and fell into a deep sleep. Now I realize that the truck was my own life, first growing nearer, and then moving further away. What’s left after all is a luminous dome of stars, and the sound of the river, lulling us all into an infinite void.