At 7 AM Saturday morning, it was 18 degrees. It was feeling like winter again. Back to plugging in the heaters.
Between having lunch with a friend and going to an extra afternoon choir rehearsal today, Java and I went for a walk at the Rum River.
The river is high but it has dropped some since yesterday. You can tell how much if you look closely at the trees and see the wet bark, showing how high the river had been.
The walking path disappeared in a couple places. Here Java and I were able to go off to the side of the path to make our way around the water.
Here we had to go quite a bit off course, taking a horse trail uphill and around.
At the worst spot of flooding, a woman was sitting beside the river and she told me, “This is as far as I could go so I thought I’d just sit and contemplate. There is something so beautiful about the river when it’s like this.”
And she’s right. This isn’t a raging flooded river, like the ones that make the news. It’s come up into the flood plains, with no danger of flooding anyone’s home or washing any cars away. And it is beautiful and amazing — the cycle of things — the ebb and flow.
Sorry, I’m waxing poetic on you. Mainly because I don’t know how to describe the way that rivers make me feel.
They each have their own personality, some just amble peacefully along like the Rum, while others are filled with rapids and sharp rocks. And just like humans, rivers are changeable. There are times of flood and times of drought and the resulting algae filled sludgyness.
And as I watch the river I only know that it is going somewhere — I’m not sure where. And maybe that explains the kinship I feel.