Life of the river

[vaneramos]

Old Man Willow this afternoon.

Another photo is posted in texture.

For bitterlawngnome. Happy 40^th, Bill.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kingsmill Avenue has hardly any slope to it, but at 1:15 this afternoon one could practically stand still and slide halfway down the block. Sometimes stretches of snow rubble, ice-covered and hardened, would break the ungainly descent.

Over of my sweater and jacket I had donned the rain poncho I bought last summer for camping. It was a good thing: by the time I got home, the lower legs of my track pants would be drenched. I was grateful for the hood, too.

But down at the riverbank, I had to push it back and listen to the hiss of rain on the water's surface and through the woods.

The source of the Eramosa River lies somewhere east of here, not far from Erin; I have concluded that's where the stream must get its name. No similar words or geographical names have turned up in my research. From here it drains into the Speed River and eventually the muddy Grand, where Bill and I walked in September. I have come to see the river as a metaphor for life.

Another favourite metaphor is a pilgrimage. We can mix these, because rivers are travellers themselves. And no matter what happens—dams, floods, pollution—nothing stops them. They might get lazy for a while (the Eramosa is dark and languid), but eventually they carry on.

In summer the life of a river is civilized and discrete. It keeps to its boundaries. You know where it's coming from, and can count on it to behave itself.

Other times of year it's less predictable. Today the usually placid Eramosa is screaming under its breath. And these tons of water keep falling out of the sky, a hundred million tiny droplets, the spirits of other rivers, lakes and oceans. They join the river, become a part of it. The river has a birth, a life, and a destination, but beyond this definition it is ever-changing. It nurtures life along its banks. Wise people and dogs, even cats come here to taste a portion of nature.

The river is a true child of the earth, and we keep going back to it for wisdom and solace.

Comments

[apel.livejournal.com]

Oh, that black and white picture is simply wonderful, Van. I love the crispness of the twigs and how they stretch toward the middle.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Thank you. This is my favourite spot on the river, about a five minute walk from my apartment. A few times I have climbed into that big willow to read.

[bitterlawngnome.livejournal.com]

Thanks dood :)