The River

Morning on the river starts slow. As if the river determines the speed of time or of my watch. It starts with a call of a crow, heralding first light.

The crow's call sounds eerie and familiar, floating through the thick fog. Then other voices are heard. I like to close my eyes and count the sounds and try to identify them. Then all is quiet, except for the sound of the river itself. If you concentrate you can also hear the ocean, down stream about a mile of so.

Morning starts with just those three: Crow, River, and Ocean.

After the sounds of morning on the river, comes the smells. First the clean smell of fog. It is as if the fog has cleansed the air, making it fresh and new again.

Add to that the smell of the river itself. It is the smell of childhood's first adventure on and in a creek. Slightly musty, slightly slimy, a little old, a little new. But totally exciting. It is the smell of your first encounter with that frog and that fish. With a hint of something coming that is familiar, but you just can't place.

Then the river changes as others start to wake. First the sounds change. The crows get louder as they land nearby on the shore. They squabble with each other, like a pack of pre-teenagers, in line to play a video game. Then other birds are heard from. A gull, then a flock . Calling as they fly over for a day of beach combing.

Then the sound of air racing over wings as an egret notices me and aborts its landing. "Excuse me." I say to myself and to it at the same time. It flies on down river to a rock, to setup shop. I think of the poor unsuspecting fish, swimming by, being "pecked" out of the water by the egret. Then I think of the balance that is created by this and smile. All is well on the river.

The smell of a camper's fire drifts into my head, along with memories from long ago. Is the smell good because of the memories connected with it?

Then the sounds of other birds start to drift across, up, and down river, as the fog starts to lift. The other shore becomes visible. Then the voice of a solitary cow comes from across the river. It is standing in the river eating the green grass/algae growing in the river at the edge.

The fog lifts, so the hills up and down river are visible. As the sun strikes the hills down river, the first true colors of the day appear. Golden grass, green trees and gray green liken covered rocks. I realize now how the fog make everything so monotone.

As it gets warmer, mist rises from the river and drifts across. Colors change and more details are visible. Pink flowers on the big rock down river.

Five cormorants fly overhead. The flight sounds like a flag whipping in the wind. They circle a couple of times, then head to the coast.

Two families of ducks float by. One has 12 ducklings, the other ten. They all head for the shallows across the river, where food is plentiful. So many babies surviving, means they found plenty of food and a good hiding places at night.

Two sand hill cranes fly over. There raspy call repeating over and over. They fly up and down river in a zigzag pattern scanning for something. They repeat the pattern up and down river. After the fifth pass they head off to the hills.

I was inspired by the beauty of the river to take a set of pictures for note cards. The set will be called "along the river, Beauty at your feet" When you stop and really take the time to look, there are so many beautiful sites in such a small area. How can you not feel connected to the mother earth?