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Friday, November 2, 2012

There is Always The River

                     November 2, 2012
 
 011 Tex’s Thought Provokers

There is Always the River

When I was a young boy, knee high to nearly everything, I can remember that feeling of freshness. That feeling of experiencing things for the very first time. That wonder of youth when there were very few complex matters or bad things in the world to think about.

Mine was a type of Huck Finn existence; as far back as I can remember, the forest always being a part of my life.

And then, there was the river. I grew up on the headwaters of the Main Southwest Miramichi River. The hours turned into days, the days gave way to the weeks, the weeks revealed the months, the months turned to years, and time slipped by very quickly. Quietly with no amount of fanfare, I blinked my eyes and I was a man. At least that is what it seems like now. At the time, I can remember always waiting and wishing for something. “I can hardly wait until I can swim, then I will be able too.”… Then that day came and went and the wait was replaced with another “I can hardly wait for”, there always was something.

I realize now that when we are young we wish away the time always waiting for something, and usually that day came. When we get older, we wish we could go back to those times, knowing we never can. That is when, it becomes clear, that we take much for granted, and we seem to dwell in the world of “If only”. Yet, we then wake up from our dreams and realize that hindsight really is twenty-twenty. It is not just a saying that our Parents or Grand Parents said. It was true.  

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference." --Reinhold Niebuhr, The Serenity Prayer   

I can understand the ways of our Native brothers, they thought the earth was their mother and they were brothers with the bear and moose. The earth provided for them and river provided for them. I can understand why they held these things with such high regard.

So I ask, can something as simple as a river teach us anything? Can the forest teach us? Can the abundance of wildlife that call these places home teach us?

The answer is very clear to me, yes. That is if we take the time to see with our hearts and not just our eyes. For our eyes are very deceiving. They play tricks on our mind. One person sees a fully grown mature Eastern White Pine with their eyes. They see the value of that tree and perhaps what they can make from it. There is nothing wrong with this, provided the tree is used to its best end. However, another person sees the tree with their eyes as well, they see the same things, but they also see other things, like the story the tree can tell, the beauty it adds to the earth, the lives of the creatures that depend on that tree. It is then a person begins to see with their heart as well as their eyes.

When I was in Ranger School, there came a day when we were out on the wood lot practicing and learning about “Selection Cutting”. This should not be confused with “Selective Cutting” for there is a great difference. Selection is the harvesting of trees when they are the very best they will ever be, taking at the same time the less valuable wood, to give the best room to grow, leaving a legacy of good trees behind.  Selective is the harvesting of the very best and leaving the rest, also called “High-Grading”. The former is wise consumptive use generating good wood for many generations to come. The latter is a one time profit, leaving behind trash wood for many generations.

At any rate, we were harvesting some Red Spruce. We were cutting only the very largest and oldest trees. They were magnificent, as they stood towering over many of the other trees below them. I began to think of all the things those trees had survived. Wildlife nibbling on their young shoots when they were small. Infestations of many insects such as the Spruce Bud Worm, and the Spruce Saw Fly. As they grew they became resistant to diseases. They were witness to many wild fires, even the Great Miramichi fire in October of 1825. Hundreds of storms with very high winds and lightning galore, sometimes in winter, ice storms that left their branches hanging heavy.

Yes, they withstood many things. Had it not been for a firm root system, that solid foundation, they would have succumbed to something. And now, here we were, cutting them.

I said to one of my mentors standing next to me; “You know…there is something very sad about seeing these trees cut” He gave me a very stern look and wagged his finger in my face admonishing me for my statement; “You know these trees are the best they will ever be…it is time for them to be cut…if we wait any longer…their value will be decreased because of the rot…they have reached the age of culmination… if you had been paying attention…you would know these things..”

I know I looked like a whipped pup. At Ranger School, if one questioned or argued in a way that might be perceived the wrong way, you were labelled an Anarchist bent on Revolution. I thought quickly as he stood waiting for my response. I was always taught that honesty is the best policy, so humbly I said; “Yes Sir…I know that what you say is all true…I agree with it as well…its… just these trees are so magnificent…perfect…it seems a shame to cut them…even though I know we must…do I have to feel good about it?”

His hardened face grew immediately soft and warm, his eyes no longer felt like they were burning holes through me. Then he smiled. I was relieved. He said after thinking for a bit; “Hmm…I guess we really did teach you something here.” And smiling he walked away.

No, the forest or the river, the animals, fish, or insects, do not speak to me as we humans speak to each other. They communicate in ways that many never have the chance to realize. I am still learning their language for it takes a lifetime to learn.

Time, we are living in a time of hurry. The faster we can get to something, accomplish it, and move on to the next thing, the better. We do not know how to relax. We do not know how to see with our hearts. There just is not enough time. From one goal to the next we go with very little regard for anything around us. We do not even take time to consider our neighbours let alone nature. There is just not enough time. Oh, when we retire we will have lots of time. We will consider these things then, when things slow down for us. Hummm, dream on, for most of the retired folks that I know are busier than they ever were. By the time you realize that you should have made time, it has run out, and there is no time left. We can not get it back.

Time Out!!!
There is Connie the mail Lady! I have been waiting for my new bible to come in the mail. I have been waiting with great enthusiasm! I can hardly wait!......

Wait, hold on just a minute. See, there I go again. There is always some reason to wish away the time.

No, my bible never came, but instead, a letter from the Newburgh College of the Bible came. I am thinking about some on line courses.
One expected thing has turned into a totally unexpected pleasant surprise. I have been accepted, if I can raise the money, I can earn a Bachelor of Arts in Pastoral Studies. 

At this point, I will give you another example of seeing with your heart.

Like I said earlier, I lived a Huck Finn kind of existence. The river was my life. Whether I was fishing for trout and salmon with my dad, or swimming, or just canoeing, I was at one with my brother the river.
Each and every day was a new and exciting adventure. Yes, I spent time on the river nearly every day. And if I allowed it, it might have become boring. After all, once you had gone down the river a few times, what newness did it hold? Well, I can tell you, that every time down the river, although much the same as the time before, it was always different. Each trip was filled with a newness, the newness of a different day.

Have you ever thought about the rivers? I mean, they run endlessly, thousands upon thousand of gallons per minute, day after day, year after year. They never seem to stop. They get high with rain and snow melt, they get low with the absence of moisture, but they never stop. Just having these thoughts alone allow you to start to see with more than just your eyes.

Many times I have poled down the river and seen wildlife, the river being one of their sources of water and food. A lot of the time the animals that I encountered were the same critters.

So come and take a journey down the river with me, and I’ll show you what I mean about seeing with your heart.

Here are the rules.

First of all, we have to go back in time to about when I was sixteen.
I will be doing all the talking.

You do the listening.

Keep your eyes and ears open, and let your mind concentrate on the river. Put all other thoughts out of your head.

Now then, let me paint the picture for you.

It is now about 7:00am. It is July. The sky is clear. It is cool for this time of year, with absolutely no wind. There is a mist rising from the Bogan. I’m standing in the rear of the canoe steadying the boat with the boat pole. We call a canoe a boat.

I’m dressed in a short sleeved shirt and jeans. And for manly foot wear…well… I’m in my bare feet.

You are on the bank under the white birch, spruce, and fir trees, next to a huge rock with a crack in it. You are waving your hands around as if you wanted to fly. It goes like this.

“What you waving at?” “Flies…ya there a bit bad this morning…but don’t worry…they’ll soon be gone.” “Now you come down an git in the boat…you sit in that there boat chair in the front.” “No…don’t you worry none…I got the boat…we won’t upend if you do as I tell ya.”

“That’s it….now just sit still…here we go.”
I shove the canoe’s stern out and you can hear the growl of the bottom of the bow as it leaves the gravel on shore. I see that you are hanging onto the gunwales with white knuckles. You’ve never been in a canoe before, so your mind fills with the horror stories you’ve heard about people always upsetting in a canoe. And to make it worse, I am standing up in the back. You figure that you’re bound to get wet.

“Now then…just relax…I will speak real soft…just above a whisper. Don’t make no sudden moves…jus listen…there’s no need to worry…we ain’t a gona upend…as long as you sit still. Now, the reason I will speak in a soft voice is…I wana be quiet. Voice travels fer a mighty long ways down the river…so you keep yer voice down too. Now if I tap ya on the shoulder with the boat pole…that means don’t move and don’t say nothin…I heard somethin… an if we wana see it…we gotta be quiet.”

“Now ya see that there big ol rock?...that there is called Governor’s Table… it got its name years ago…ol Governor Carleton usta come out here fishing trout. When he’d git to that ol rock…well he’d up an have his lunch on it.”

Now the canoe is gently drifting down stream. The water is crystal clear, and you can see the bottom very plainly. Little fish are jumping out of the water next to the bushes that line the right hand side of the river; they are having breakfast on a host of different insects on the water. Off in the distance you can hear birds singing at least a dozen different songs.

“Look ta yer left up there on the sand bar…them there is turtle tracks…hey!...look, there’s one now… under that willow bush…see it?” “Yes sir…ain’t that somethin…tain’t offen ya git a chance ta see one…but there he is…big as life.”

By now we have drifted down to the first turn, it swings 90 degrees to the right.

“Hear that there roarin off in the distance behind us?...that there is up ta the tree nursery on Irvin ground. They’s testing the water bombers…they do that every day…ta make sure if they’s a fire….they’ll be ready ta go.” “What’s that?....Ya…sounds like there right beside us…See this here river is crookeder than a rams horn…twouldn’t be no more than a mile er so to where they are….up above us on the south and north branch…ya could almost throw a rock from the south an hit the north….they’s places where the dang thing almost comes back to meet itself…on both branches. Why if I was over at birch stub pool on the north branch fishin…an dad let out one of his yelps from the camp…I dare say I could hear imm…real plane. It’s no more an a little ways as the crow flies…but it’s about two miles by river ta git there from the camp.”

Ahead downstream you can see a small green camp, and just this side of it there is a weathered barn like building. To the left the water is very shallow; you wonder how the boat is floating at all.

“That there green camp that ya see is the Federal Fisheries camp, I don’t know if ol Jack’ll be there er not…that buildin just before it on the right is Fred’s work shop…years ago…it usta be an Inn…then it was a fish hatchery fer a time….then Fred moved in and made er into a work shop.” “Him and some his kids do a lot of different things in that there shop…they build snowshoes…fix canoes…an ol Fred…he’s a taxidermist.” “Listen to the river now fer a piece…she’s talkin.”

We go for a few boat lengths and just listen to the river.

“Dya hear it…?” “Ya didn’t…ya those danged ol ravens are a tad noisy alright…ya I know the sounds of the highway off to the right are there too…ya jus gotta tune them other things out…lets give er another try…now listen real close.”

As small whirl pools twist around the rocks and gurgles, and the water happily babbles over the shallow gravel bar, small little waves snap against the boat, the canoe pole thubs it way into the water. The sunlight dances like a billion diamonds on the water ahead of us. A slight puff of wind stirs the surface of the water like a comb bushes hair.

“Well…dya hear that time?” “No…well give it some time and yer ear will git tuned to it.”
You notice of a sudden that there are no more flies. They are gone. And so are your white knuckles.

“Ya well…when ya git out on the water away from the shore a ways…they seem ta disappear…not all of emm mind ya…but enough so’s ya notice a difference.”

“See that there flat rock ahead of ya…that’s right…that’s the one….they’s a lamprey eel nest on the lower side of it…may hap we could see the cussed thing….hateful creatures they are….one of the Ol Fellers lesser creations.”

Lamprey eels run with the Atlantic salmon, they are parasites. They have a suction cup mouth and they will just latch onto the sides of the salmon and it seems like they get a free ride up stream. However, that is not all that is being accomplished. Inside their mouth are rows of hook like teeth. They first use the suction to hook to their host then the teeth help hold it there, in this case the salmon. Then while they get a free ride up stream, they devour the salmon’s blood at the same time.

“Yes sir…there is the ugly ol thing now…cussed things…they have tried in rivers such as the Connecticut…ta git rid of the things cause the salmon population was all but gone…but them scientist fellers found out that the larva of the eel…when he is a little feller…can last up to seven years….so they give er up fer a lost cause.”

I give the canoe a little extra shove to get away from the creature’s nest.
“Cussed things…if ya put the pole in their nest where they’re layin their eggs…they git real protective…the cussed things el come right up outa the water at ya….jus like a cussed ol snake….ewww I don’t like emm.” 

By now we are adjacent to Fred and Dora’s house. Usually there are several canoes tied up along the shore, but not today. Everyone is down river fishing.

As we pass by the warden shack, old Jack is there and he comes out.
“Hey Jack how’s she goin taday?” Jack smiles as he rolls a cigarette and says, “Not too bad I guess…wha chya doin taday?”

“Oh were jus goin fer a little boat ride down the river a piece…showin my friend here the river.”

“Ain’t chya gonna fish none?...they’s a real good run on.”

“Naw…I might go down later…jus wana enjoy the river fer now.”

“Well okay…ya have a good trip then…we’ll be talkin to ya”

“Sure nough…I’ll be down ta see ya some time soon…an we’ll have a say.”

“Good nough”

By now we are starting around a slight bend to the left.

“This here is what we call bat ally…we won’t see any taday…but when we go down fishin in the evenin…an come back in the dark… the air is filled with the little goombers.”

“What’s that…no they don’t bother ya none….they is a eattin flies…an anything that eats flies is a friend a mine…oh every once in a blue moon…one’ll make a slight error in judgement…an wack ya in the side of the head…but it is a bigger surprise ta him than it is ta you…an he sure didn’t mean too.”

You notice that the bottom of the river here is starting to change a bit. There are bigger rocks and more of them. There is a lot less gravel. The weeds on the rocks have changed as well.

Off to the left, as the canoe is manoeuvred between a row of large rocks, a noise is heard. It sounds like a loud swallow, only much louder, kinda like when ya hit a holler log with a club.

“What’s that…oh that there is a Meadow Hen…it’s over yonder in the Bogan off to the left…It’s a heron like bird…only smaller…it lives on frogs an such…folks here bouts call emm either a pile driver…or some call emm a meder hen.”

Just then the sound of a man laughing can be heard. It is a loud deep laugh. I mean very loud, unique, like you never have heard before.

“Well…that there will be ol Harley….one of Fred’s sons….sounds like he’s at the Forks Pool.”

“See them camps up there on your right…they bin there a long time….this place is called the Forks Pool because it is where the north branch meets the south branch…many a fish have bin caught here…that down below is what we call the main river.”

As we drift by the Forks, Harley and I exchange a wave, and we continue on. There are two more folks fishing at the Upper Barr Pool in the main river.

“Yes sir...that there was ol Harley…he might not look it…but he is a powerful man…works in the woods ya know….they’s a set a rapids a way down river called Big Louie…an Harley is the only one I ever heard tell of that could pole a canoe up through emm.”

“Now them fellers down below fishin the Barr…that’s another of ol Fred’s sons…Freddy…er Fred Jr…but folks jus call imm Freddy…that feller with imm is ol Don…he owns a camp up there….that there grey one at the top over lookin the river.”

I pass the time of day with the boys, and ol Don tells me exactly why the fish are not taking. Freddy, he is a bit quiet around strangers, so he does not say much.

We continue on.

“That there rock behind us there…the one up next to Freddy…that’s Lem’s Rock…I don’t know it fer sure…but I guess it got it’s name when some feller name of Lem dove off it…he went straight ta the bottom an busted open his head on another rock….seems like they’s a lot a rocks got their name that way.”
Below us another canoe is anchored out in the middle of the river. There is one man in the boat fishing the sunken rocks at what is known as the Lower Barr Pool.

The river now is somewhat wider than it is in either the south or north branch.

“See that camp in there on the left…In there in that Bogan…that there is Stillwell’s Bogan….That there camp belongs to the Stillwells…over there to the right….that’s their boat landin…they use a boat to git ta the camp.”

“Right in there in the bushes ta the left….that there is where ol Fred and Dora lived in a small house when they first came here from Cloverdale…they’s nothin much left ta the ol house…it’s all fell in now.”

The man in the boat fishing is another man named Fred; he also owns a camp up at the Forks.
Fred and I exchange hellos and I ask how the fishing is. He tells me there are a few around, but he has had no luck.

Onward we go.

As the river widens out even more, there is a long straight stretch to cover.

“That there noise ya hear…that is the train…the tracks is jus up there a short distance in the woods.”

“See that big ol Pine tree up there on the right bank…see that big limb there about mid way up the tree…well that is where they is a big ol Great Horned Owl a settin most evenins…he’s a big ol feller…big nough ta make off with a fawn deer…yes sir…that’s right…no foolin…he’s that big….I know I wouldn’t want imm stickin those big ol talons in me.”

We go for some distance now not saying a word, just drifting. Listening to the river talk.
“Were a comin up on the Big Pool now…that there in the canoe ahead there…that’s ol Fred and Dora…the Big Pool is one of their favourites….I’ll have to be extra careful going by them….Dora don’t like it none when they’s too much disturbance on the water ta scare the fish…an she’ll let a body know it too…that there big ol rock there to the left of their boat is what they call Indian Rock…when we git right across from it….you’ll be able to see the Indian’s face an his head dress….right off the point of that there rock is where I caught my first salmon…I was seven years old…I don’t know who was more excited….me er dad…one things fer sure…when we came back up the river that day…Ol Fred was a waitin on the bank by his shop ta see what we caught….he said he knew we’d caught somethin…cause he could hear the hollerin all the way up ta his shop…an that there is a long ways.”

 “I guess that us fellers…specially dad…is quite loud…even more so when we git a bit excited.”

 I was extra careful as we drifted by ol Fred and Dora. Fred always smiled and seemed happy to see me, and we exchanged greetings. Dora never said too much. That was not unusual, for that was in her nature. As I said my so longs to Fred, we were now in what is called the Dungeon Pool. It is very deep and wide, and the river seems to be hardly moving at all.

“This here is the Dungeon…it always has fish in it…it is real deep and it has a bunch a cold springs a bubblin up from the bottom…I never did see any one ever ketch a fish in this here pool…it’s a good holdin pool though…an as the fish ease up inta the Big Pool…that’s when they’ll take…while they’s in the Dungeon though…they jus like ta beat an thrash around and play…they ain’t interested in no fly hook fer what ever the reason.”

Just then as if almost on que, a salmon about twelve pounds or so exploded out of the water snaking through the air.

“Dya see that?!?!...Ol Silver Sides imm self…that’s what I call the salmon…Ol Silver Sides.”

“That there was a nice fish…bout twelve pounds I’d guess…they sure are a sight ta behold.”

“That there camp over there on the left is Dalton’s camp….bin there fer years….the train tracks is jus on the other side of it…from here on in we’ll be real quiet…they’s not too many folks that come down this far…an if we go easy… may hap we’ll see some other critters”

Farther on down and steady we go. Quiet, listening to the river talk.
I could see on the far bank way down, two moose. This would be fun.

You feel the tap of the boat pole on your shoulder. You know that is the signal to be very quiet and still.

I whisper just loud enough for you to hear.

“Down below us…two moose….see emm?...it looks like ol Thunder Foot and Grey Rump.”

I always named the critters that I knew I had seen often. Thunder Foot was a big bull with a good rack of horns. Grey Rump was another smaller bull; I had seen the pair several times.

Now if you remain very still you can get right up to the moose, and sometimes go right by them without them really giving you other than a good look. If you are really lucky, you can pass close enough to see the flies crawling on their nose.

I always had this thing where I imagined what they were saying to each other. In my mind the moose conversation went something like this.

“Hey TF….what’s that?”

“Emmmm where?”

“No not down there ya big galoot…up the water…see it?”

“Emmmm yup…looks like an ol tree… stump an all…musta washed out from up above.”
“It don’t look like no tree I ever did see…are you sure?”

“Emmmm yup…like I said…it’s a tree…now let me git back ta my eattin…an quit yer danged fool frettin.”

“Ya well…I ain’t so sure…somthin jus ain’t right...I’m gonna keep my eye peeled on that thing.”

“Emmmm, yup…go ahead…you do that…me… I’m gonna eat….let me know if it turns out ta be some sort a human boogie man…emmmm you got a over active magination….silly ol grey rump….I think that there is why ya got that grey rump…all your grey matter….what little ya had…done got relocated to the proper place…emmmm yuck emmmm yuck…I made a funny.”

“It ain’t funny TF….what if it is a man with a boom stick….you remember what happened ta ol buddy Big Bell last year….he thought there was nothin that could hurt imm…yup a real bull of the woods…jus stood there an looked all tough an the like while that there two legged vermin up with that boom stick and pointed it at Big Bell…then we heard the boom…an Big Bell roared loud and fell…remember…we run off….an that there was the last we ever did see a Big Bell.”

“Emmmm you worry too much lunk head…emmmm I tell ya it’s a danged ol tree….now leave me alone…I’m eattin!”

“Ya….I’ll leave ya alone…but I’m gonna watch that thing mighty close.”

By now we were right beside the moose. They had looked at us several times, but we didn’t move. As we went by very close, close enough to see their eye lashes, they both just stood there chewing away staring at us. As the sun shone on their wet faces, and water dripped from their neck and chin. It was one of those perfect moments.

I had moments like this nearly every day. But for someone who had never seen it before, well, it was really quite something. I don’t know which I enjoyed more, the look on folk’s faces or the moose. It was a toss up.

Now well below the moose, I spoke softly once again.

“What dya think of that”?

“No…your right….that’s not somethin ya see everyday…this here spot is Upper Rocky Bend…it’ another good pool…jus look at them there Pine trees….ain’t they beauties?...that there one in the middle…it’s bin hit by lightning…at least three times that I know of….see the big ol cracks down it’s trunk?....look over there ta yer right….it’s a Kingfisher settin in that there alder….an look over ta yer left…it’s an ol fish eattin Merganser…she’s got all her brood a little ducks with er…cussed things…eat their weight in fish every day…but…I guess they gotta live too.”

Meanwhile I looked over my shoulder to take another look at the moose. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. They were sondering back up into the woods. My thoughts went quickly back to their imagined conversation.

“Emmmm come on ya ol worry wart lets go over to the pond an see what’s goin on there….I wonder if ol Clyde’ll be there…ain’t seen imm in a week er two….I toll ya that there was a tree…emmmm yuck …emmmm yuck…human…emmmm yuck….boom stick emmmm yuck….ya comin?”

“Ya well…some day yer gonna thank me fer bein suspicious…what if I ain’t there ta keep watch fer ya….boom…an that’ll be all she wrote for ol Thunder Foot….funny guy…you’ll see someday.”

As they disappeared from sight, I imagined them still mumbling away.
We were now in the main pool at Rocky Bend.

“Now this here is Rocky Bend Pool…it looks a bit like the Dungeon…but they’s a difference…over there next to the tall grass…the water is a taste lower…they’s a spring that puts in right there…the fish lay right there… I’ve hooked a lot a fish right there….it’s a good spot.”
 “See that there dead Pine….ya that’s the one…see the holes in it?….yup them holes was made by a Pileated Woodpecker…ya know them there fellers with the big ol red head.”

As we make our way around a slight bend to the left, we can look down towards China Town.

“Now ya see all them there rocks ahead of ya…that there is China Town…it got it’s name cause there is as many rocks down there as they is them there Chinese fellers….look there’s a deer and an it’s got a little feller with er…we could sneak up on the two a them jus like we did with the moose….but what dya say we leave emm be…were down the brook a fair piece…an the big fellers is startin ta eat the little fellers…huh…oh that means I’m startin ta git a taste hungry…what dya say we head back now?”

We make our way back up stream. Poling up to the camp takes a while, but we finally make it. Just in time for a real good breakfast. I hope you had a good trip.

If only life were that simple. I don’t remember when it was, I must have been fairly young, when I began to realize that there was a complete different world out there besides the one I knew on the river. I can remember being at the farm where my Grand Parents and Aunt and Uncle lived. Watching the evening news night after night. We would be setting there together, Gramps, Gram, ol buddy Unc that’s what I called my Uncle Richard, and Aunt Dineny (Dianne).

Walter Cronkite would give the death toll from that day in a place called Viet Nam. It seemed like a far away place, but I knew that many young men were dying there every day. At the time I had no idea as to why, but they were dying none the less. The looks on the grown up faces was cold, almost numb. I can remember being scared. Feeling like this is real; it was not just another war movie. Some call it a loss of childhood innocence.

As I got older, I soon learned that there was a lot more to life than my Huck Finn existence. The world was a very tough and sometimes cruel place. Amid all the beauty of God’s creation, there were many terrible things that a person had to face. I guess they call it growing up, becoming a man. And it all happened way too fast as I look back on it now.

Back then it couldn’t seem to happen fast enough.

Time goes by very quickly and we are here for such a very short time.

I wonder why we have to fight and argue over such trivial things?

I wonder why we have to hurt one and other?

I wonder why we as humans, with so called intelligence, can’t see the simplicity of life, the wonder of all of God’s creations?

I ask myself over and over where can I go, what place will I ever find where I can just find God’s simplicity?

And then it comes to me. It has been there for all of my life. I ignored it many times. But it never went away. And I say to myself, it is as plain as the age spots I now have.

There is always the river. Until next time, try and learn to see more with your heart.

Tex

2 comments:

  1. Tex, I so love reading your stories, this one took me right back on the river beside you... loved it

    ReplyDelete