My friend Ted sent me an email picture of himself, along with our buddies Greg and Darcy, fishing for brook trout at Dark Cove on East Grand Lake. The lake had finally frozen over, and Darcy had drilled down through the ice to the frigid lake water below. There was Greg all bundled up holding his fish amidst the paraphernalia of ice fishing. Our last fishing trip together for trout was in August at Beaver Dam, where we cast for the loveliest speckled brookies. Oh how I miss those days of a quiet summer afternoon, wading through the dense forest to reach the beaver ponds. Muck up to my knees, pulling myself loose from each step in anticipation. Funny how one can recall the details of an afternoon last August and barely recollect what happened yesterday. I suppose it is the personal moments in life that stay with us. So many of them for me are connected to Maine. Like finding that bright star, Sirius, the faithful “dog star” which always shines off the dock, never diminished by other stars or clouds. I locate that star the first night at camp when I arrive. It sets me in place. I know I am where I am supposed to be. Above all else that star is a constant. The Earth rotates, Washington changes Presidents, the weather is spotty, my stomach sometimes rumbles but the star is always in the same place watching over us souls on Earth while we stumble through the mud on our way to Beaver Dam to fish for brook trout. Be there soon.