The sun is out in the sky and the river is surely flowing as it always is. We’ll float on down it with the birds singing from the banks and us laughing in the canoes, talking about the flowers on shore and the fish swimming below and the ducks exploding from their hidden nests.
The river will transform you if you let it. Give you hope, accept your love. Hope that whatever we do this water will keep flowing toward the sea. Accept your love for a place that is greater than rush-hour traffic and bank account balances and television.
Take your medicine
A day to face what is real
Get them in the light
(apologies again to Cloud Cult)
An osprey nest on a railroad bridge, parent bird returning with fresh-caught fish from the channel we’re now passing through. Bumping the canoes laden with three people, a dog and a pile of camping gear over gravel bars, hopping out to push over the obstacle.
Arrive at the hidden spot where a little creek spills down a last little falls of rock and into its own little cove. Hope to not find another canoe on shore already. Walk up and around the short trail to the site, the crystal cold crick on the left, a ridge topped with a spine of pines on the right. There, just a flat spot between water and hill, a fire ring next to a clear pool three feet across and the worn earth of previous visitors who knows how many generations old.
Set up tents, make fire
Do anything, hear only
the sound of water
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