The river

It doesn’t matter how hot or cold the weather is, we always go to the river. It draws us near and calls to us with the gentle lapping of water against rocks, and the softly creaking boats tied to the piers. Its water is subject to the whims of the season: slate grey in the winter, muddy in the spring, blue tinged with green in summer, nearly black in fall. Across, we see the hills we sometimes climb. Looking north, we look up its length until a sharp bend hides where it comes from. To the south, it flows past memories of foundries, battles, swimming holes, docks, and mills.

2 comments on “The river”

  1. This is an extraordinary picture! I wish I could blow it up, frame it and have it in my flat to look at everyday!

  2. Thank you so much! It makes me happy that someone else likes it as much as I do.
    I would be more than happy to make a print for you and send it over. If you are interested, you can send me your address via email (asalinguist-at-gmail-dot-com)

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