Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.
Norman McLean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories
There is nothing like following a river on foot. The sound of the water, the light dancing on the surface, the tree-lined bank and glimpses of the riverbed through the moving water are my touchstones.
A benevolent cedar keeping watch on the river bank.
An embrace in cedar.
Our version of a water park, lined with trees and rocks 'from the basement of time'.
Stones covered with water and sunlight.
Water moving over rock shaped by moving water.
The many faces of riverbed and water.
One of Ted's favorite movies is A River Runs Through It and we've watched it more times than I can count. Since I rarely sit through an entire movie, I've never seen the end, until a few weeks ago (see the clip here). McLean was right— eventually everything does merge into one and a river runs through it. I am blessed to have found my river.
