Life as a River

As I sit here trying to write this post I watch Yoda wiggle and yip in his dream. His nose is twitching and his little paws make a motion like running. I wonder where he is ? Gus is next to me fast asleep. It’s mostly silent aside from these dream noises.

I headed out for an early hike this morning but I never reached my destination. I made the very rookie mistake of not bringing a guidebook or map. Hopping out to snap photos, I disconnected my GPS and from there I was all but lost.Sometimes maybe the destination chooses us and not the other way around.

There was no disappointment. I drove past mountain run-off cascading down tall slabs of granite wall. I caught glimpses of Mount Rainier sporting a lenticular cloud that seemed to evaporate, then reappear later, with a new ring and more definition.

I crossed paths with an elk, two chipmunks and several red-winged blackbirds. I touched snow. I ran my fingers across the moss begging to be touched. I was surrounded by wild forget-me-nots.I drove two forest roads I had never been on in search of a view. I had sense enough to turn around on the one with deep ruts and potholes and poor signage. I had to pee in the woods.

I let three people pass me this morning so as not to feel rushed. When there is nowhere to be, there is no hurry. And when “the plan” for the day falls quietly apart, there is not even the illusion of time to fuss over.

I found a new “sit-spot” on the White River. I was a dozen feet up from rivers edge, tucked away on a moss and peat covered forest floor. I set up my new chair and I sat watching the river.

It is running high and fast. Where it pools it is a richer, deeper color than the aqua green of the rushing water. You can see where an undertow would be unforgiving if you stepped into the deep divide of swirls. It is at once beauty and terror.

A friend recently shared about how our lives are like a river. I sat there and imagined describing what I was seeing but it was clear that even as you spoke it, it would have changed. The rise and fall, the spike of each wave … different in a split second.

I sat quietly eyes down, focused on the stump. The one unmoved object in the path of the flowing river. But even that, for the illusion that made it seem unchanged, was being slowly transformed.

Ah, life. I see both the necessity and folly of making plans. It was a good morning and I kept good company. And right now I’m happy. I don’t dare ask for more.