River Walking

When I lived at the ‘big house’ I was three minutes from the river.  Every morning my Laurie-dog and I were just moments away from nature…from the now-and-again view of a bald eagle on migration/nesting….the swoosh swoosh of heron’s wings over head…the sound of gulls dipping down to skiff the water.  I love the smell of the river.  I love the smell of the tall grass. In the summertime it is high and green and the long grass snakes weave their way across my walking pathIn the autumn there is the swish swish sound of the brown grass against my pant legs.  And in the winter it is flattened and we can see the nests where the coyotes and deer curl in for the night.  I just love the smell of the grass mingled with that fishy scent of the water.
In the springtime, the water levels cover over the river stones and big chunks of debris move fast in the current, powerful reminders of the mountain melt. When it is warm in summer and slightly chilled in autumn, I sit down on the round smooth river stones at the water’s edge, while Laurie sits guard over me on the grassy bank.  His wet nose twitches as he takes in the smells carried by the river breezes. In the winter, the stones are covered with ice and snow, but push their heads out in places, reminding me of the spring to come.  I love the river. 
So, this morning we will head it out…we’ll take the van down to the same location….park next to the mailboxes and walk down the ridge to the place we both love the best.
One day it would be my dream to live again somewhere near a river.  I know that I preoccupy a lot of my daydreaming time with this notion…but at this point in my life, I give myself that permission.
May all of my readers find themselves traveling their own ‘river’ story and living their own dreams!

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