Reflections on the meaning of life from a dead salmon
I crouched by the banks of the Cedar River.
The water was still and clear. The atmosphere was peaceful.
And the air smelled like rotting flesh.
A dead and decomposing salmon stared me in the eye.
It’s skin, slowly detaching from its body, gently rocked in the water.
It reminded me of a zombie.
I wish I could know its story. If I could interview that guy (gal?) what would it say?
How would it describe the epic journey it had just completed in its own words?
I would have so many questions, like:
- “How many miles do you think you swam to get here? I hear some salmon can go hundreds, if not thousands of miles.”
- “Were you keeping track?”
- “When you got here, were you able to complete your mission?”
- “What did it feel like coming home?”
- “Were you able to find another, special fish?”
- “What do you think is going to happen to your eggs? Are you worried for them?”
- And lastly, "if you were to do it all over again would you do anything differently?”
I looked that floating rotting salmon in the eye and I posed these questions. I think they’re pretty good ones, but the salmon seemed very unmoved.
With no answers, I could only ponder the circle of life, alone, on the banks of the Cedar River.