Listen to the river, hear the flow with your heart,

Adsorb the direction with your soul.

The wind comes in from the west,

Pushing the seasons forward.

The strength of the change causes one’s heart,

To reset the direction of their next moment.

This movement, through falling leaves,

Allows one to walk among the past,

Nature’s cushion for the future.

Through the movement of time and space,

our existence in this world comes to be.

We hold each breath as a lifetime to be lived,

we take for granted the next moment.

Savor the moment we live in.

The single most important moment in our lives,

should be the next moment.

Make each breath you take,

bring you closer to a world of possibility.

The world of wonder,

where you inhale and exhale your future.

The settled surface at dusk reflects the quiet harbor,

resting from a busy day.

The old wooden piers, which have held fast through the season,

lie silent under an evening rain.

Each weathered plank of wood tells a story,

of daily foot traffic and heavy carts transporting the day’s catch.

Mooring lines hang low with the absence of wind,

but are secure against a sudden blow.

The timing of the tide washes through the bulwarks and post,

Renewing life below.

The evening releases its vigil on the day,

as the eastern sky lights the morning,

with up lighting from the heavens.

Jet plumes, like meteors on the morning,

leave evidence of distant travels.

Parallel tracings of thrust,

mark their direction toward the southern skies.

Ground fog layers the landscape and changes shape with the wind,

as a placid hum in the forest serves as background music.

A spiritual choir welcomes the dawn,

proclaiming a tranquil presence of energy to all who venture in. 

Serenading the dawn are cardinals with their regal beauty,

praising the morning new.  

Canadian geese fly in formation like an arrowhead,

headed to the morning feeding grounds.

The evidence of daily life is everywhere,

no need to rush the daily chores,

Enjoy the majesty of the morning!

“Ebb and flow across time and space connects us with memories of the past”.

I remember being seated in our family heirloom, a homemade wooden rowboat, pulling on tandem oak oars, stroking miles across the Gunpowder and pulling hard, creates a deep wake in my memory.

For hours on a Friday evening, we twisted hundreds of feet of braided rope to accept marinated eel and chicken necks that were destined to tempt the water spiders.

With great anticipation of the pending morning crabbing adventure, well before sunrise, the boats are loaded with tools and tales of days past and the hunt for the giant jimmies. Setting the lines with float and anchor is a chore for many but a pleasure for few.

The resting of the sinew on the bottom of the river will soon yield the promised adventure. We pull the boat along the line, dip net at the ready to harvest the prize. What surprise will the next bait provide.

The exhilaration and reward for all the hours of baiting with salted eel and chicken necks holds tight in my memory.

Another memory presents the scene on pre-dawn hours as we wade into the rising tide in hopes of netting the morning catch.

 With two poles we stretch the length of a large minnow seine and sieve through the shallows, capturing all creatures fast and slow ahead of the gauntlet.

Treading in shorts and bare feet on the river bottom, we pull the net to the nearest shore. Laying the net over our catch we check for signs of life. Fish flap and crabs crawl.

We select the legal catch and throw back the rest. A large plastic bucket serves to hold the bounty until all landing areas along the beach front have been explored.

To us river rats, this exercise was known as “hauling seine”. The catch was then transferred to the cleaning table and then to the breakfast fry pan. Oh! the aromas that flood back in my mind! Only hot grease can elicit such satisfaction.

Across a long trestle train bridge, high above the surface of the river, we hike to a familiar spot known as “Pier 13”. As a true test of bravery or crazy, we would hold our breath and jump from our perch to river below.

Fear and exhilaration share your existence for that very moment. It is that fear and exhilaration that have marked my memory, although if memory serves me correct, this was not a regular occurrence.

Once you surface you cheer and know you have survived this rather dangerous journey. Just another day on the river.

Feeding the need to recall the memories of past life gives rise to adventures past and enjoyable times on the river.

We were a very fortunate lot for we swam and bathed in the river of life and it continues to run through our veins to this day, as memories of West Twin River.

Old age is like a bank account.

You withdraw in later life what you have deposited along the way!

The best advice is to deposit all the happiness you can

in your bank account of memories!

Always remember the simple ingredients for life,
Free your heart from hate,
Free your mind from worry.
Live simply and give more than you get!
You will have the greatest wealth,

Your account will never end!

Following an evening enjoying the fall woods on the eve of a heavy weather front, I left my perch after watching a subdued sunset. As I traveled the dirt road from the woods, I had a sense that this sunset was going to be special.

The sun had dropped below the treetops but was not content on going quietly. As if the approaching clouds were props on a stage, the waning sun cast a magnificent up lighting effect.

Rolling waves of billowing clouds absorbed the final rays of the day and cast a panoramic view as I continued homeward. At this moment it was only fitting that I was approaching the crest of the hill when what I thought I saw was the true face of God highlighted in the sea of light.

I am sure it was God also enjoying this stunning landscape painting and hoping someone would admire his efforts.

We are all familiar with the brilliant sky paintings we see during the fall season. When one event can make you stop your daily travels, you must appreciate the measure of power and grandeur it takes to provide you this view.

 For me personally, it concluded an evening where I had front row seat to a seasonal play and opportunity to participate and applaud an astounding performance.

A life removed from the living is always remembered for the deeds it creates.

The gifts of lessons left behind are the fuel for future endeavors.

A true hero lived among us teaching all the rights and wrongs of life’s lessons.

Handing down lessons carved by experience was the job of this wonderful man.

He loved life, his family and friends could always relish in his company.

Respect was written in his face and the faces of those he touched.

His hallmark was a teacher, a teacher of life.

He gave back all that was given to him ten-fold.

A simple soul, he assumed the responsibility to be the best to his children.

His children now have the job of living their lives out of respect for a job well done.

They must extend themselves thru the lessons he taught.

They must remain true to his words.

The ultimate respect for him will be their allegiance to his memory and the warm gift this gives them in their own lives.

His passion to work in wood gave us all something to cherish and a piece of him to hold.

He knew by crafting in wood it would be strong, warm and hold a piece of his heart deep in the stained fibers.

The varnish sealed his gift from damage and his memory would be fresh in the feel of the finished wood.

I made a promise to him and to myself to continue his legacy to preserve his spirit in all that I do. If I faulter, I will have his courage to change the things I can and help improve those I cannot. Above this I owe him many thanks for the lessons,

The good times I carry in my heart, striving to become one with the Greatest of Men.

If you have ever baited a hook, tied a fly or jigged a jig, the pure excitement of casting a fishing line cannot be denied, no matter your age.

There is a whole new world at the other end of the line as it settles on the surface and depth is not important. Experience is not necessary because the expectations are the same for novice or pro.

The all-important tug on the line is connected to your heart and no doubt will bring a smile every time. Bobbers-bob, lines go taut and the fun begins. Maybe it is small, maybe a new world record, but your bait has been recognized and the signal has been sent and you go to work.

Anticipation is rampant as your eyes go wide and thoughts go wild. What treasure awaits as you reel the line back to the spool.

No doubt that these creatures with fins and gills provide happiness and joy by just existing below the surface.

Try wetting a line and feel a true connection to Mother Nature. You will just have to smile!

Take a moment to listen to the language of the woods,

it is pure and ever changing with the wind.

Each directional flow provides notes which inspire the soul and warms the heart.

A whisper of wind as it caresses each pine needle provides a tone like strings on a violin.

The silent sound of leaves returning to the forest floor,

provides a crescendo of music which softens their return to Mother Nature.

As you walk the path of this newly laid fall carpet,

your senses are cleansed and absorbed by the smells and signs of nature’s finest air freshener. 

Gratefulness fills your heart that you have immersed your being into a simpler way of life.

It is this connection with nature that allows us to understand the language of the wind, which sustains our life.