Some weeks ago I put bones into a fast-moving Smith and from that day my relationship with the river changed. I step differently into the water, clench my teeth tighter in the cold, close my eyes longer when my head submerges, and am more anxious for dry land instead of the next rock downstream.
Live here or visit, once you connect with the river it stays longer in your blood and influences your gait and direction. The wandering along the water’s edge and sandy pathways takes on meaning. Mostly that’s a good thing.
Yesterday Marianne visited the bnb which before my time was her and her family’s home. We told each other stories of what the river and its banks means and has meant to us and what the river holds that once we held. Once skin and bones. Now ash and rock.
We agreed that when the river is high, during the rainy winter months, we love it the most. We both had loves who themselves loved the river and I thought maybe that fondness flowed in part from the turbulence and waves and color of the winter water, which acts as a barrier to seeing clearly, remembering clearly.
These days with the Smith’s calm current what you put in the river sticks around. Reminds. Refreshes. So easy to lose track of time and get caught up in the stillness, everything so damn clear. But now I need to go.