Summer Memories – Discovery

There is a mountain range that slips into a deep, wide river. From up top, creeks and tributaries bring down the sediment and wash. The power of water and gravity is evident in tossed logs and boulders. One of these creeks turns into a wide alluvial plain, a sand bar, as it joins the larger. Nickel and Formica travel and collect with wee fragments of basalt and granite. The whole scene catches the sun and glitters. It’s so bright and spectacular; it made me a bit nauseous, sort of confused.

There’s only a brief window to visit, when the river dips in late August—and go in the afternoon. That’s when you step out from a shady, winding path through the fir and emerge into this glimmer.

When I took the wife there, I was so excited, like a dog, and I wanted to introduce her to this place in grand style. Then, when we got there, I hung back and let her walk out from the trees on her own. It seemed more important that she discover the awe for herself. She entered it all like a deer in wonder.

Maybe that’s what writers do—discover, and then set the path. The shock and awe is what the reader makes of it, art and the eye of the beholder.

The rest of the day, people just wander on their own humming in their mind, gawking at the rocks and sand like the ravens and whiskey jacks. Answers and identity lose their importance.



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