Everyday Magic – A Night Along The River

Morning, beautiful and horrid. Unknown seeps and ebbs from appreciation. Arising to hope and promise misplaced, a fear lost in sleep, until shock with reality. I miss the night when day arrives and I miss the sunshine when night sweeps in, never long enough, but I understand the visit. If all was night, I wouldn’t appreciate the intricacy of solitude.

There’s a valley with an emery sheen that dances on a river. The scene unfolds, breathtaking and forlorn. Rocks and boulders sit scattered, draped in tangled pines like broken bystanders, wild and changing. The banks are shaped by cascading torrents and in the motion, I become mesmerized. The water’s relentless turmoil calls me at night, so I walk down the path to water’s edge and feel the rocks speak. They rumble low, and I listen, a guest. Then another is revealed, in prints that cross the sand. A large one makes the night home. The rocks bid me “go no further” and again, I listen, setting a stick to mark my furthest intrusion. The journey along a river ends, the night in living combination was brief, my prints pacing alongside the beast’s. I ran back in the morning, but the river has worked the prints into sand, washed a night into sand.

Morning dream, beautiful and horrid. Fears ebb and unknown seeps, raising hopes briefly with the dawn. Conscious comes and lulls the hidden again to sleep. I miss the night when day arrives and I miss the sunshine when night claims all. Still, the night’s never longer. And in ever stillness, I would kick and scratch until the daylight bled again.

There’s a a crystal sheen who dances with a river, breathing in the gills of earth, tumbled wild and ever. Changing, shaping torrents in cascade, a swirling fray, reduced and sized as me, mesmerized to see the night spectacle, padding in a path held by all to water, and a greeting to flowing spirit, a speaker in currents and eddies calling, frothing. Still, I come as a guest, not at home, and still the icy chill forbids me, singing, that I go no further. I listen into the journey alone, a shadow turns me, and leaves memory in return, the night ours and briefly, my presence entwined with the river beast. Until I arise, running into morning, a strewn connection with sunlight, the water sifting memory within dream shimmer, escaping, beautiful and horrid.

A river finds me lurking for a seat where the world can pass, and I never have to gaze, or lift a stone. So effortlessly the world changes in the rush of moving water. A blanket embraces the river valley at night, dulled in fog and busy to the edges of earth tugging, sipping on frozen rain who will wake on high plateaus to tumble and cajole on mission to the sea. A river is a promise of always getting somewhere and torrent can slip log and limb to another realm beyond the corner or the bend. To sit in the river blanket at night, is to paddle a raft of thoughts and stories and ever changing what if’s. Those paddling, they look fondly on the earth bound manor or the shack and see a chance to root and sink into a day of stationary thought. While the shorebirds watch the river parade in passing, free of foundation and commitment. The landed are left to daydream on the river traveler. She pauses, the witness hanging laundry, and wonders, what if? Ye ho ho ho and bottle of rum.

A Night Along The River © 2011 Gaboo. Look for Edition #9 Everyday Magic in ReadThisPlease.com soon! Read more Gaboo, click his tag or if you want to read another river story by Gaboo, click on Always Wanted To Float A River.


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