I wore the Chuck Taylors into the river and Bonnie and Clyde followed me into the water.
Wet canvas molded around my ankles. The cold felt wonderful against my skin. I’d forgotten the feeling. It made me want to camp with a canvas tent again. More canvas in my life!
Movement. Movement. Movement. I crave movement in my time of molasses-colored stasis.
Inertia has paralyzed me. It has also offered unforeseen liberation. By not being able to move forward, I have taken limitless journeys into my heart and mind and the hearts of minds of others. I’ve taken journeys I would have never otherwise taken, let alone conceived of taking.
Journeys such as to this river with these great dogs. Such as to establishing a new indomitable friendship with my sister. Such as the rediscovery of classic novels and an understanding of why they endure as classics. Such as practicing silence and disinterest in the face of outlandish noise and agendas. Such as experiencing the tangible health benefits of purple cabbage and turmeric. Such as learning how to surface from the shallows of my former life. Such as traveling the Klondike Trail to prospect for a new voice for my writing and new service to my community. Such as embracing the idea that I will become a man who knows how to caulk.
That’s a lot of movement without moving. The unforeseen journeys will, I have no doubt, continue.
I heard some splashing and looked around. Bonnie had flopped down in the middle of the river and stared straight at me. Clyde had retired to the bank and was snoozing in the tall grass.
We didn’t make it across. Perhaps next time we would, if we felt so moved.
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