The Last Word On Nothing

On a salmon walk last week, a friend and I encountered this battered, spawned-out chinook in the final hours of his life: his milt spent, flesh ragged and necrotic, preparing to relax into the embrace of death. We watched him swirl aimlessly in this pool for half an hour, in awe of the vibrant spirit that brought this sacred being many miles to this pool — now leaking from him, his mission fulfilled and journey concluded, preparing to fertilize the forest with his matter.