Rivers are my ideal places. As a the traveller who no longer goes far, rivers soothe my mind. Mapped yet moving — presence in motion, motion in presence — rivers pleasantly tug at my vision with their passing waters. Unlike ocean waves, river water actually goes somewhere. The Zumbro, for instance, travels sixty four miles to the Mississippi. Its wending route crosses paths with Highway 52 at several points. This is how I know the Zumbro. At every crossing I turn to look, taking in all I can between and upon the banks at seventy-plus miles per hour. A roborant glimpse from nowhere.
# nature