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.