I love when the river has yet been discovered by the lotioned masses, all atop water toys that carve the river into a heaving jumble of moving humps all marching to a different drummer. The mornings are so still, the deer wade along the far shore while every bird awakes in flight. Around noon the quiet will be put away, players will begin to play, lovers romp and teenagers’ race by immortal at mortal making speeds. It will be the rush hours and will carry on till late afternoon. Then just as soon as they came, all the speed and spirographs will die away. They will haul off their machines, tuck them in garages, the TVs, iPhones, iMacs, video games and Netflix will be tuned in and life will return to normal. Then once again the river and I will begin to stretch ourselves out, the sun will seep into the waning hour, the stars will awaken in the east and all the glory of every day will bow worshipfully before our Maker in a whisper, “good night.”
PS: One of the great rewards of Fair Haven is that the above only happens maybe 20 or 30 days of any year. There is a mass flurry that opens the summer but fades quickly. Mostly it is just quiet here.
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