Lovely Old River.

Trying to compose these words on the fly, inspired in the morning sunlight while Doves coo and the sounds of the World waking up are happening. I have been awake and thinking thoughts for a while already but I’m just now having yesterday’s reheated coffee. The words flow by like the ancient River behind my studio, where I have had my station for more than 15 years now with my Dad and Others. I love to sit out back (especially in the warm weather, although I have done so in all Seasons) and watch the water go by, sometimes flat calm, like a Mill Pond, sometimes rough and wavy, like the Sea, and upon occasion covered with ice or bursting at the seams, bloated with heavy rains. It looks like a huge, churning vat of morning coffee during the latter stage, as I peer into my cup and take another slurp of this warm brown, I doubt that Fish-water tastes similarly. That River just keeps flowing by and there I sit on its banks, in all types of weather, where others have sat in previous ages, watching ducks and herons and honking geese glide by. It puts me at ease every time and I am grateful for the French Broad River.

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