Wonder of the World   Leave a comment

It is mid-July & many of the rivers around here run low. Liam & I celebrate Henry David Thoreau’s birthday by throwing our kayaks into Lake Erie & paddling up the Black River, past the Lorain County Water Treatment Plant, under the rumbling traffic of the US-6 bridge, under a railroad bridge that sounds its horn & rises slowly as we approach, past piles of sand & gravel & coal, industrial clang & the faint brio of commerce. Just after we pass beneath a third bridge, vast & vaulting over the water — a Bald Eagle —

& as we moved on upriver, we floated among dozens of Great Blue Herons, standing, stalking, soaring, scoping. Idling in the shade where we turned to float home, we find ourselves near what seems to be a heron factory: from the nearby inland trees, amid the comings & goings of maturer birds, myriad rasps & croaks & gurgles & barks.

Later, having stopped for dinner, we overhear an old man extol Niagara Falls, repeating this phrase, with knowing emphasis: “It’s a wonder of the world!” & we laugh & laugh.

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Posted July 14, 2011 by the meaning of rivers in Uncategorized

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