I’m never sure what I’ll encounter on a float, which is part of the appeal. As I headed to the river on a balmy Sunday morning, following a rainy Saturday, surprises greeted me under Memorial Bridge where I set in. My friend TJ Anderson and a companion were playing an infectious beat on hand drums that cascaded and echoed wonderfully against the massive concrete arches. Another companion was elegantly flowing in a free-form dance. I hesitated, debating whether to hang, but decided since I had to work in the afternoon and regrettably had to attend to a few errands before that, I’d best continue my short trek to the river. The water was high, littered with leaves (a good type of litter—suggesting heavy rains or winds) and the current fairly swift. Since I’d spent the hour before weed-eating my magically-growing, untended, intentionally “gone wild” yard (mostly to appease the city code ordinance folks), I was hot and sweaty, so the cool waters felt delicious on my green-speckled limbs.
Right from the outset, my spirit guide Great Blue Heron erupted from a nearby bank and alighted high in a tree a few hundred yards ahead. As I drifted toward it, I chirped my usual announcing sounds. When I was near, it used it’s powerful legs to leap from the towering perch, but instead of the usual flight out of view, this morning it veered in an arc directly over me, heading back to where it had been before my interruption. I felt content it seemed secure in my presence.
Seconds after experiencing this stunning sight, I noticed a trio of turtles on a log ahead. They were in perfect arrangement by size: the first over 12” diameter, the middle just under, the last one about 10”. Like a well-practiced synchronized swimming team, one by one they “plooked” out of sight into the water in the same sequence, the final fellow allowing me within 30 feet.
As the currents ushered down river, a dragonfly burst into my periphery, seemed curious, began to hover, then follow along. After a few tentative landings on my tube, it eventually settled on my water shoe, and enjoyed exploring my sole (for whatever it is dragonflies are looking to find) for several minutes.
It was interesting to witness the impressive, statuesque Great Blue Heron pulling itself skyward, seemingly aiming toward the sun; then the turtles, first catching the sun then diving downward, into the muddy depths of the earth; and then the dragonfly, which may spend years as a nymph in the mud and underwater, and then at maturity become the airborne creatures for which they are named. It was as if each animal straddled or was inextricably linked to two or three worlds: earth, water, and sky.
Near the end of the float I came upon a red half-dome with a handle pointing upward, floating daintily in the water. I snatched it up, gave it a twirl, and decided it added a Dr. Doolittle-esque accessory to my usual floating couture. And so it all flowed in me as well, my earthbound body, hovering atop the water, using my snappy river-find to evade the atmosphere-penetrating rays of the nearest star.
Right from the outset, my spirit guide Great Blue Heron erupted from a nearby bank and alighted high in a tree a few hundred yards ahead. As I drifted toward it, I chirped my usual announcing sounds. When I was near, it used it’s powerful legs to leap from the towering perch, but instead of the usual flight out of view, this morning it veered in an arc directly over me, heading back to where it had been before my interruption. I felt content it seemed secure in my presence.
Seconds after experiencing this stunning sight, I noticed a trio of turtles on a log ahead. They were in perfect arrangement by size: the first over 12” diameter, the middle just under, the last one about 10”. Like a well-practiced synchronized swimming team, one by one they “plooked” out of sight into the water in the same sequence, the final fellow allowing me within 30 feet.
As the currents ushered down river, a dragonfly burst into my periphery, seemed curious, began to hover, then follow along. After a few tentative landings on my tube, it eventually settled on my water shoe, and enjoyed exploring my sole (for whatever it is dragonflies are looking to find) for several minutes.
It was interesting to witness the impressive, statuesque Great Blue Heron pulling itself skyward, seemingly aiming toward the sun; then the turtles, first catching the sun then diving downward, into the muddy depths of the earth; and then the dragonfly, which may spend years as a nymph in the mud and underwater, and then at maturity become the airborne creatures for which they are named. It was as if each animal straddled or was inextricably linked to two or three worlds: earth, water, and sky.
Near the end of the float I came upon a red half-dome with a handle pointing upward, floating daintily in the water. I snatched it up, gave it a twirl, and decided it added a Dr. Doolittle-esque accessory to my usual floating couture. And so it all flowed in me as well, my earthbound body, hovering atop the water, using my snappy river-find to evade the atmosphere-penetrating rays of the nearest star.
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