Rivers and Wildnesses

Beyond Geddes bridge, the river is a jewel in early September stillness, a shining strand in Indra's web but lower now before the coming of the autumn rains.  The wind stirs the trees and trails its fingers in the waters making shimmering ripples here and there.   On the other side of the bridge, a lone heron stands in the shallows, and loons call to each other in haunting voices across the bay

Crone stands on the bridge and snaps a few photos of a place she loves, late afternoon sunlight and ripples on the water, a favorite chunk of rainbow granite with the waves washing over it - the river kicks things up a notch and intensifies the colors of the old stone like a polarizing lens, making it sparkle like a garnet in its place.  Her thoughts are much like this this winding river making its way through the highlands between guardian rocks and old trees.

She thinks of her long ago childhood and all the times when life seemed beyond enduring, when she was in desperate need of sanctuary and fled to what she called her "wildnesses" - the enfolding woodlands and what Dylan Thomas described as "rivers of the windfall light".

She stands here in wildnesses many years later, watching the play of light across the water and trying to capture the moment with her camera and notebook.  The loveliest part of these moments at the edge of time, and indeed the whole equation, is what the river is saying: "Just rest in this moment, nothing else is needed at all..."   Even as a child, she knew that.  She smiles as she turns to go, thinking that in some measure she will be here by the autumnal river forever.