clean air and cold rivers

Since deciding on a canoe camping trip over backpacking I can think of nothing but the sound of quiet; water over rock, the smell of crisp air and the smolder of half-out morning fire. The birth of a river that begins and begins again each spring, swelling and contracting arteries that were once roadways to native canoes. Or more, the lack of sounds........phones and cars, traffic and humming light, televisions and children, the harsh rusting crank of the machinery of routine. Nothing sounds as beautiful as a paddle dipping into the waist of a river or a stream working its hips around a chute or cluster of stone. Even the smell of your own skin, in a boat, in the sun, takes on a name other than yours.