In no way will I be able to come up with adequate wording to describe the joyous glee that filled me somehow from my throat to my sternum when I heard and witnessed this eddy in the river. I believe it’s called an eddy. There were places, as I trekked to Greeley Ponds, where they ice on the river was thick and greenish.
This spot caught my eye and my imagination. It’s the movement and sound of the river here. How it comes straight in above, carves a kind of eddy, then the water churns back out to continue downriver. The movement struck me as so elegant. (Perhaps it was the slogging as I broke trail.) I doubt you’ll get a similar feel from the photo. Hard for me to identify and describe.
The thought occurs to me (not morosely so) that – if (when I am old – VERY old, God) I am graced with the ability to walk to a place for my last goodbye – I would like to do so in just such a place – in the winter – by the side of a river – dressed warmly – in the sunshine – in the presence of just such gracious movement. Not a bad place for a final breath – when I am old – VERY old – okay?