A River Runs Through It

A beautiful day on the Shenandoah River, about an hour and a half away from DC. Blissful to be out of the city among the smooth flows and little rapids, waters running over rocky shelves every kilometer or so. The river was lined with large trees, interspersed with a healthy ensemble of great blue herons, little blues, egrets, kingfishers, and ospreys. Huge carp prowled in the shallows and feet were immediately nibbled on by a throng of little fish if you stood for more than a moment. People pay a lot for these fish pedicures at spas around here (go figure), but for us, it was just part of the package. About 20 km of paddling and much to smile about.




Sash (yes that is confusing), Crystal, and Mehzabeen

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

Norman Maclean