I have lived most of my life near a river. I find I can't settle easily in a place without one. There is a spiritual pull to be close to it such that the closer I am the more contentment and ease I feel. I have spent a lot of time just sitting and watching the river - generally the Ohio. The narrow channel that cups the northern tip of Kentucky like a lover's breast. The plain of water it becomes in Louisville just before it steps down the falls. Two places linked by one river. One river that sings many songs depending on where you stand along its length. Every place sings to me, although some are so quiet I can hardly hear them. I realized that about 5 years ago while visiting my family in Montana. When they suggested I move there (which they do regularly and I love them for the asking), I find I cannot. Not because there is no river, but because the rivers, the land, hell even the sky there sings so loudly I would be able to do nothing but sprawl out and listen.
I know that every being who lives there out of balance with the land makes the song a little less vibrant. That is a steep responsibility and one I would not step into lightly. I would not do anything to risk that thundering chorus of mountains, of rivers, of endless sky. To chance making the song as faint as that of Midwestern rivers. The very thought makes me sad.
So, I stay here where the river still sings. The thought of wide water without sound haunts me. It is something I cannot imagine. That I do not want to imagine.
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