They seemed to march across the frame, following each other to inevitability and oblivion as they sank into the river. They must have seen, must have known, and yet still they march, still they follow, still they sink. And then are still.
(Nothing like a lazy cruise on a still morning to indulge in a spot of casual anthropomorphism…)
River time is different time.
Breaths as long as tides,
moments of stillness in between.
as we wait to exhale.
It’s hot today, almost too hot to think. I am using what little brainpower I have to think of colder times, when our boat was sliding calmly through silvery streams, and the breeze was gentle and cool…
Our boat slinks through the river; quiet, still, calm. Above us, a sea eagle circles and meanders, and all is slow motion, peace, and contentment…