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Harvest

Walk out into the river, and the surround sound of cascade and flow immerses the senses. Suddenly, thought is vanquished by nature’s echoes and vibrations blending across the frequency spectrum, favoring the range usually reserved for the human voice, whether from within or without.

Carved and smoothed rock surfaces rise and fall, water lapping, washing, swirling, twisting, pooling and tunneling in a remarkably orchestrated, purposeful chaos. The sprites are happy in this autumn soaked arena.

In bare feet, I scanned, stepped and scanned again, following a route that eventually traced a crescent shape. I wanted to retrieve an arbitrary piece of lumber that had landed on a drying rock face, emerging again after a week’s heavy rains momentarily emboldened the river’s low late summer flow. But I was much more interested in the journey, there and back again. I arrived, picked it up, and wondered for a moment what structure this milled, worn, water and sun soaked cedar remnant may have been a part of.

Perspective reversed, my route had been erased. Funny. Novelty is always welcome. All that’s required is to turn a few degrees from the way you were facing, and lo, the world is refreshed.

Makeshift walking stick in hand, I plotted a new course, back to familiar shores. Four years now, I’ve been discovering the island life. I feel like I’ve barely begun.

Solvitur ambulando

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