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?