Down by the river, I came
upon someone walking slowly, pausing frequently, gazing with apparent joy, out
upon the land.
They had severely pronated feet, making it tough enough to navigate, and they had gotten impressively far, with their evening pleasure.
I stopped and asked if they knew the yellow/ochre swallow like bird that had flown so close to me, obviously protecting a nest, and we stood for awhile, as people do down by the river, regaling each other with their favorite things.
He asked me how far to the end of the path, so I pointed out the corner of the river far down , and the tall Maple to show where the path ended. I told him how the Bittersweet-choked woods there was thick with Cedar Waxwings, come Summer.
They had severely pronated feet, making it tough enough to navigate, and they had gotten impressively far, with their evening pleasure.
I stopped and asked if they knew the yellow/ochre swallow like bird that had flown so close to me, obviously protecting a nest, and we stood for awhile, as people do down by the river, regaling each other with their favorite things.
He asked me how far to the end of the path, so I pointed out the corner of the river far down , and the tall Maple to show where the path ended. I told him how the Bittersweet-choked woods there was thick with Cedar Waxwings, come Summer.
How the river at times roiled with newly
hatched fish of one kind or another, pressing their baby fish mouthes up past
the surface in early morning and dusk, to feed happily upon the insects flying
along the water's surface.
I told him about the Egrets and Heron, the mated pair of Eagles coming for breakfast early in the mornings, and how to drive to the other path. How even waking partway to the river, you were far up over the arroyo, the wild flowers cascading and varied all summer long.
How,often, there was a yearling coyote ,shielding itself at the crook in the path, finding its way in its young life.
And how, if you got closer to the river down there, a tough call for him, I imagine, at 6:30 come the young women crew, laughing and singing all together, with their rousing spirited laugh filled songs. Followed by the women my age around 7:00, who laugh and yell to each other and tell jokes, and ignore the admonitions of the crew coach.
And as he grinned at the characterizations, I told him that the men did crew around 7:30, focused, hard working, quiet and no-nonsense, obedient to the coaches, trying to make the day.
He laughed then, and I think we both knew he wouldn't get that far, so why not hear of the goings on. I felt like I was singing the song of the places, as he happily tasted what he could access.
I told him about Alexandra Dawson, who the conservation trail had been named after.
How she is no longer with us, but volunteered her time as an attorney, to helping local governments put in place environmental measures, to protect the waterways.
How her hobby has been seeing if she and her husband could kayak or canoe as many small waterways as possible, along this beautiful river.
He shifted feet, smiled, and told me it often felt so very ancient. And I agreed with him, it does.
I told him I consider it a small miracle, that these waters come from precipitation, gathered up from elsewhere; and from far flung mountains and hills, creeks and tributaries, so much water passing so much life, that flows past us, and down to the ocean.
We said goodbye then, he slowly walking back to his car, pausing here and there. Me knowing all too well, from years of working on people , exactly what the walk will cost him, in terms of inflammation and joint pain, and incremental deterioration.
I thought of the cost of the surgery they do, that works well and is an all but impossible access for most.
I thought of how many different ways we can each be challenged ... what an amazing variety of ways things can get tougher, as we each follow our greatest pleasures and delights.
I told him about the Egrets and Heron, the mated pair of Eagles coming for breakfast early in the mornings, and how to drive to the other path. How even waking partway to the river, you were far up over the arroyo, the wild flowers cascading and varied all summer long.
How,often, there was a yearling coyote ,shielding itself at the crook in the path, finding its way in its young life.
And how, if you got closer to the river down there, a tough call for him, I imagine, at 6:30 come the young women crew, laughing and singing all together, with their rousing spirited laugh filled songs. Followed by the women my age around 7:00, who laugh and yell to each other and tell jokes, and ignore the admonitions of the crew coach.
And as he grinned at the characterizations, I told him that the men did crew around 7:30, focused, hard working, quiet and no-nonsense, obedient to the coaches, trying to make the day.
He laughed then, and I think we both knew he wouldn't get that far, so why not hear of the goings on. I felt like I was singing the song of the places, as he happily tasted what he could access.
I told him about Alexandra Dawson, who the conservation trail had been named after.
How she is no longer with us, but volunteered her time as an attorney, to helping local governments put in place environmental measures, to protect the waterways.
How her hobby has been seeing if she and her husband could kayak or canoe as many small waterways as possible, along this beautiful river.
He shifted feet, smiled, and told me it often felt so very ancient. And I agreed with him, it does.
I told him I consider it a small miracle, that these waters come from precipitation, gathered up from elsewhere; and from far flung mountains and hills, creeks and tributaries, so much water passing so much life, that flows past us, and down to the ocean.
We said goodbye then, he slowly walking back to his car, pausing here and there. Me knowing all too well, from years of working on people , exactly what the walk will cost him, in terms of inflammation and joint pain, and incremental deterioration.
I thought of the cost of the surgery they do, that works well and is an all but impossible access for most.
I thought of how many different ways we can each be challenged ... what an amazing variety of ways things can get tougher, as we each follow our greatest pleasures and delights.
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