I must first begin by asking what happened to July? Time = weird.
But on other matters: rivers. I realized some time ago that rivers define me, surround me, soothe me, call me, and offer me sanctuary. I’ve always been drawn to rivers. The gurgles and rushes and trickles, the rumbling sound of boulders and rocks being moved along the streambed, the meditative quality of the endless play of water against the earth–aahhhh. It’s lovely, it’s filling, it’s soothing, it’s invigorating.
Many rivers have rumbled through my soul over my lifetime. The Fremont River, of course. The Animas River in Durango. The little stream that runs briefly and then dries up through Eaton Canyon in Pasadena. Countless others. Carcass Creek. The river that runs off Mt. Baldy. The Merced River racing through Yosemite Valley.
Oceans are great. Lakes are serene. But really–give me a river. And it’s not that I fish, or run rapids (shudder), or canoe or kayak or even tube float all that often. I just like rivers. Simple. I sit by them, I read, I dream, I write, I nap, I stare mesmerized into the flashing waters, I cry, I laugh, I splash water at friends, I skip stones, I watch my dogs play. I live my life by rivers, in a sense.
And how beautiful is that?