The wind pressed into my awareness lately. It’s not something one generally factors into deciding about a float on the river. Yet on a recent float a headwind greatly extended the time a friend and I were on the water—despite our low profiles near the river’s surface, a light breeze will silently accentuate or buffer the gravity-driven current. And it can reveal our fragility by chilling a wet body in short order. Even our colorful sunsets can be ascribed in part to the wind-driven wildfires across the globe.
We’ve had several storms pass through here, hurricane remnants. Enhanced by our climate changes, these now can include tornado-watches, a once-fragmented by the mountains novelty that more robust storms have made more common. Storms routinely dump 1-2+ inches in quick deluges, something rare in my childhood that’s also now the norm.
We’ve had several storms pass through here, hurricane remnants. Enhanced by our climate changes, these now can include tornado-watches, a once-fragmented by the mountains novelty that more robust storms have made more common. Storms routinely dump 1-2+ inches in quick deluges, something rare in my childhood that’s also now the norm.
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Floating the river on a breezy day can reframe one’s view. The glass-like surface becomes rippled, transforming rays of sunlight into a hypnotic shimmer. The river’s usual reflective mirror becomes instead an abstraction highlighting the pulls and vibrations of the wind. Unseen force are made visible. Evening colors dissolve toward silvers and golds, as if the wind eschews being robed in the colors of material things.
Intrigued by the metallic palette, I plunge my hand into the waters, captivated by the whorl it creates. For an instant I see a world unto itself. It melds into the whole, as surely as we all will. But it was never really separate from the river, so the notion of merging is a falsehood. Can we recognize we too are not separate? That we too are never really apart but rather, just an integrated part of the whole?
The breezes sweep us forward like leaves, bit players that we are. Mostly we act out futile egos in this timeless drama, even as we have the potential to recognize the larger view. Relinquishing control to the elemental forces of gravity, wind, and sunlight, I pass under the canopy of century’s old trees, between boulders worn over thousands of years. Waving my hands within the gentle flowing resistance of this ancient river, I feel connected to mountain springs pouring into creeks far beyond my limited sight. Floating helps me sense the limitless, unseen energies sustaining all beneath our minuscule roles. Without answers to the many pressing questions storming through our time, I try to listen to my heart and take love and beauty as my guides.
Intrigued by the metallic palette, I plunge my hand into the waters, captivated by the whorl it creates. For an instant I see a world unto itself. It melds into the whole, as surely as we all will. But it was never really separate from the river, so the notion of merging is a falsehood. Can we recognize we too are not separate? That we too are never really apart but rather, just an integrated part of the whole?
The breezes sweep us forward like leaves, bit players that we are. Mostly we act out futile egos in this timeless drama, even as we have the potential to recognize the larger view. Relinquishing control to the elemental forces of gravity, wind, and sunlight, I pass under the canopy of century’s old trees, between boulders worn over thousands of years. Waving my hands within the gentle flowing resistance of this ancient river, I feel connected to mountain springs pouring into creeks far beyond my limited sight. Floating helps me sense the limitless, unseen energies sustaining all beneath our minuscule roles. Without answers to the many pressing questions storming through our time, I try to listen to my heart and take love and beauty as my guides.
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