Loman, MN – June 20, 2012
The first rain drops shatter the river’s glass surface with a thousand ripples. More drops come, more ripples, now with conviction. The river seems to boil.
The air turns fresh with the smell of new water. I inhale the crisp scent with every breath. It tastes like the grime has been washed away and everything shines.
There’s no sound beyond the rain. The birds hide, the highway fades behind the patter, even my paddle sounds dull underneath the rain’s gentle roar.
The drops soak into my arms and shoulders, a thousand taps pooling and racing across my skin. My first instinct is to hide somehow, to flee toward shelter, but there’s nowhere to run, there’s only endless miles of river. I breathe into it, accept it, and paddle on as the sky opens up overhead.