A hazy day. Fourteen geese preen themselves along the river. An ancient willow leans over the tiny beach. A butterfly investigates the charred remains of campfires.<\/p>\n
The river is coming in, coming out, swirling. The river runs fives shades of blue.<\/p>\n
I sit on a memorial bench chained to a tree. The bench reads: \u201cSit, be still, and listen.\u201d<\/p>\n
One wonders if that’s possible in America anymore.<\/p>\n
Years ago, I had a strange assignation here, in the willows at low tide. It’s worthy of a short story, but I doubt I’ll ever write it. I have come to realize that many interesting stories exist in my past that I will never write. Sometimes that’s the best thing to do. But of course, they are written in my mind, and that’s a novel way of publishing.<\/p>\n
Not a single boat on the river, a boatless river.<\/p>\n
I am alone…but now a black Bronco from the OJ era rumbles to a stop nearby. The two occupants have that definite look: river, fire and Fireball. They don’t get out of the vehicle. It appears they are napping, a Fireball morning nap.<\/p>\n
I sit in the shade of several Sitka spruces. A gull flies by. I am thinking about possibilities, not with this river, but other rivers.<\/p>\n
(If you found this post enjoyable, thought provoking or enlightening, please consider supporting a writer at work by making a financial contribution to this blog or by purchasing an NSP book.) <\/i><\/p>\n\n A hazy day. Fourteen geese preen themselves along the river. An ancient willow leans over the tiny beach. A butterfly investigates the charred remains of campfires. The river is coming in, coming out, swirling. The river runs fives shades of blue. I sit on a memorial bench chained to a tree. The bench reads: \u201cSit, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4147,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[20,244,220,6,838,837,839],"class_list":["post-4146","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-meditations","tag-astoria","tag-columbia-river","tag-hammond","tag-matt-love","tag-possibilities","tag-river-beach","tag-river-thoughts","has-post-title","has-post-date","has-post-category","has-post-tag","has-post-comment","has-post-author",""],"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4146","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4146"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4146\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4149,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4146\/revisions\/4149"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4147"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4146"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4146"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4146"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}