Wednesday, April 23, 2008


Something changed. No longer did the routine of collard shirt and razor burn seem as valuable.

Breaking down camp, pushing off towards an unknown, un-experienced series of hours, seemed exhilarating. Maybe along the banks our boat will be deposited as a trail marker or warning to those who follow. Maybe life will be different, maybe the river can expose layers in oneself the same way it carves at limestone.

Our first morning

The river took on a silence it hadn't revealed to us before. Only the shuffling of snow melt over riverbed or of robins picking over wet morning dirt were the recognizable sounds. That and the smell and smolder of last nights fire and the thought of coffee worked at the wrinkles in our morning eyes.