Overwhelming notions that all time is lost unto itself, as the hours linger, only to be perceived as moments. There's something about a stream or river, particularly near dusk that can make any angler’s heart perspire. The glittering sun-glazed surface of the water, the bustling insect activity, birds chirping - rustling in their topiary lairs, the shimmer and a glimpse of a rising trout in the near proximity, the intoxicating - nostalgic smell of nature itself, the infinite melody and caress of the waters constant pure drift mixed with the lust to land the fish of a lifetime beholds the perfect prescription for the human soul. It's a drug to me; immeasurable, ever ceasing to deplete its active ingredients. I yearn for it daily, finding myself with drawling almost every hour; it has a hold on me, incessantly commanding my return for the high that fills every fiber of my being. It's visceral and effectively spiritual for me. I question whether I am completely fatuous or if I share this obsession, only to hope there are others who relate to this allure that I call “The River Constant”.