There is a saying: you can never look at the same river twice. I am thinking about this as I watch the birds float out of the leaves above. On the ground, they push beaks under the dried leaves and under twigs looking for a bite to eat. Some hop under me as I lay still, unaware I’m inches above.
Now back to my thought, all life is a river. We are still flowing through the banks of time. Like the river, we are not the same. There is not a cell in us that was there ten years ago. Every piece of us has moved on, remaining only in memory.
Moe has come out to greet me; it’s time to get up. We have breakfast.
Nancy is getting ready to drive to the lake to watch birds. Moe goes with her. I get myself ready to explore some gravel roads by bicycle.
Nancy comes up behind me as I pedal the last few miles to the campsite. She slows the car and rolls down the window and shouts, “I have ice cream.” Moe’s head is out the window, ears flapping and a tongue hanging from a happy face.
Back at the campsite, the ice cream eaten, we sit in the shade, dripping with sweat. Moe is panting. No point in showering before the sun goes down and the air cools. But here in northeastern North Dakota, we sit until 8 p.m.
Nancy and I drive to the shower. The walk back would have us dripping again before reaching the campsite. Moe protests being left in the air-conditioned camper.
It is dusk at 9:30 p.m. We are in the screen tent, barely comfortable. In another hour, it will be cool with a light breeze. I will be in the hammock with the breeze on my face. Another day will be over.