A river runs
Apparently it’s been a dry and lovely summer here on the West Coast and, while we can still believe that it’s the height of summer, there are undeniable signs of autumn all around.
But what do we care about that on a golden Saturday as this Saturday it turning out to be?
We pick our way thru the boreal forest, around the giant cedars and firs, thru the curtain of vine maple…
…to the aspens and the river.
And we stick out feet right in and and balance on the slippery rocks with our toes.
And then, when the cold, mountain water isn’t taking our breath away, we gently ease our bodies right into the river…
…and watch as the aspens drop their leaves and float them by.
And hours go by and the shadows lengthen and we reluctantly dry off and head out of the boreal forest for home.
And as we walk out of the forest, the summer river seems like a memory because the signs of autumn whisper to us from all around. They are as ephemeral as a spider’s web and as real as next year’s wildflowers seeds caught within.
But even as our thoughts turn to autumn, we will hold on to our summer river as long as we can.