I'm not the same having seen trout rise on the other side of the world. Now, blessed
and forever, I am a river gypsy.
Some prose-poetry/photo fusion for February.
The river is forever falling as are the dews and rains that create it. The river is life and the river is living and its trout are forever rising. The river is present, it is transient and it is eternal...
The river present can be enough. It comes from the secret spheres of commonplace clouds adorned and decorated with the mists of heavenly light.
It once was the River Yonder. It can be enough. It once was just right.
The river past can be enough. The looking glass river looking at me, look at it, look at me. It was the river our honored fathers fished. Flies we think fussy lighted on the river transient.
It once was the River Yonder. It once was enough. It once was just right.
The river of desire will be enough. Out beyond the further but just within the reach. Brooklet upon the mountainside, little river amid silent solitudes, big water; all rich in memory, each rich in hope.
It is the River Yonder. It will be enough. It will be just right. River Yonder." - WES:::
"By such a river it is impossible to believe that one will ever be tired or old. Every sense applauds it. Taste it, feel its chill on the teeth: it is purity absolute. Watch its racing current, its steady renewal of force: it is transient and eternal."
~ Wallace Stegner, from "Overture: The Sound of Mountain Water"" - Doubleday, 1969