Have you ever sat beside a

river until the light breaks?

Have you stood in the cold

and dark and damp waiting for the first

muffled hints of sun to get there?

Sit by an icy river, tucked in the mountains.

Drive before the dawn.

Move into a position of longing. Wanting. Needing.

 

Let the shimmering, gorgeous, ice-covered

rocks teach you,

sing to you with their silence.

Let the dormant green moss-covered

banks be your bed.

Let the deafening sound of a frigid,

flowing stream lull you to communion.

Communion with this place.

Communion with all that have been here before

and all those who will come.

 

Have you ever sat beside the oldest

place you know until

your chest is on fire with thanks?