Random Story

To sit and watch the water. The water may be a lake, a river, a small stream, a trickle across a side walk, or the ocean. To many there is something special about watching the water.

At the ocean on the west coast of the United States, the water is often dramatic. Especially in the winter. Winter waves crash onto rocky shores all up and down the continental margin as though trying to reduce the whole of the land to gravel and sand. The beaches are churned up by those seasonal squalls to have their substance redistributed by the coastal currents. We see the crash of the waves and hear the sound of the surf and are awed and humbled.

The might of a free-running river at flood is often even more obvious than oceanic strength. Such a torrent will pluck away at its own banks, pulling down stone and soil, tree and house with no concern. The stream rewrites its story, redirects its path and thereby revises the lives around it. Remember that when you see a flood plain with a small stirring of water running through it.

A small mountain brook is a mineature version of that mighty river but it seems incapable of such remodeling and so we see it only as a source of water or fun. That's OK too. This waterway has strong abilities to please. To lull one into a sense of well-being. The babble of the brook is soothing.

A lake (if it's not too big) gives a sense of placidity. A calmness that can ease the soul. Watching the trials of life in and around a wild lake a person can gain a better understanding of the inter-relationships of animal, vegetable, and mineral. Someone could even obtain some insight into one's place in the grand scheme of things.

Or maybe I'm just all wet.Saturday evening,
July 27, 1996