I seek the path to that magical place where I will land the salmon of my dreams and discover the best of the best.
A maze of faint paths appears in the brush as I approach the river.
I call them rabbit trails.
Each one is a record of some ones journey to or from their destiny.
A record of experience gathered, of a life well lived, hearty and full:
A fish lost or caught; Or a great truth discovered. The passion, elation, fear, beauty & wonder captured briefly.
These journeys are written in the language of the ages; Marks upon the land.
Fleeting, ephemeral signs of passage, existence and a life lived.
Some are broad & easy to follow and followed by many;
Others are barely discernable; followed by few.
Quite often you must make your own trail; follow your intuition, your instinct or that spirit which resides in each of us. 
Or one of those barely perceived, ever so faint trails to find the best of the best.
To find we must search; to search we must question; and to question we must reflect.
And in that reflection we discover there are many paths to that magical place.
We just have to find the one meant for us!