A World in Itself...

Heron Reflection 2, a photo by paynehollow on Flickr.

The river is a world in itself, separated from the country through which it flows by invisible walls. Its seasons are not the same as those of the country inland. The river air is softer, a little misty always, except in those times when all the land is scoured by the north wind...

When we first came to the river in autumn, the brilliant coloring and the stark contrast of the hills were left behind. The green willows changed to gold, faded and scattered their leaves as imperceptibly as the course of the sun moved southward. On sunny days the pale yellow shores seemed afloat on the heavy blue water. In the mild air, the migrating birds lingered, softly whistling fragments of their summer songs...

~from Harlan Hubbard's, Shantyboat: A River Way of Life, published 1977 by University Press of Kentucky

Driftwood

Driftwood, a photo by paynehollow on Flickr.

A river tugs at whatever is within reach, trying to set it afloat and carry it downstream. Living trees are undermined and washed away. No piece of driftwood is safe, though stranded high up on the bank; the river will rise to it, and away it will go.

The river extends this power of drawing all things with it even to the imagination of those who live on its banks. Who can long watch the ceaseless lapsing of a river's current without conceiving a desire to set himself adrift, and, like the driftwood which glides past, float with the stream clear to the final ocean?

~Harlan Hubbard

from Shantyboat: A River Way of Life, published 1977 by University Press of Kentucky.