“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops.”
Norman Maclean, “A River Runs Through It and Other Stories”
A photo on my desk reminds me of a day on the Spring River in North Arkansas some 15 years earlier. It was a day that both my husband and I were pretty down and out. Realizing the futility of sitting around the house and fretting, we decided to take a trip to one of our favorite spots. It was a beautiful day and we really needed the respite from the burdens we were carrying.
No sooner than my husband hit the water, fly rod in tow, it began to rain. At first it seemed like it would put a damper on our day, but the rain was soft and gentle and comforting. My husband continued to fish and I stood on the bank and took pictures. And as the rain fell and the day wore on, our cares seemed to wash away.
Over the years we have gathered there, to fish, to canoe, to picnic and to wipe away, if only for a few hours, the cares of everyday life.
On cold, dreary, winter days I long for spring and to visit the river.