Sunday, February 11, 2018
Sunday Reflection: The slow river
Yesterday I flew out of Patrick Henry Airport, south of Williamsburg, headed home. The plane banked up and over the James River, and I was filled with memories.
Here in Minnesota, the rivers move right along (except when they are frozen). Minnehaha Creek runs close to my house, rushing through twists and turns and plunging over little waterfalls until it gets to a big one, where it drops 53 feet into a misty pool. Even the Mississippi speeds along, even tumbling into whitewater as it passes by downtown Minneapolis.
The James is not like that. It is old and slow and wide. Sometimes, even up by Williamsburg, it can stop or flow backwards. You can throw in a stick, and just sit there and watch it not do much for an hour. When I was in college, I sometimes went and sat on the shore to think; it was calm there.
Things move slowly some places. But they do.
I have great admiration for those who can navigate slow waters.
Here in Minnesota, the rivers move right along (except when they are frozen). Minnehaha Creek runs close to my house, rushing through twists and turns and plunging over little waterfalls until it gets to a big one, where it drops 53 feet into a misty pool. Even the Mississippi speeds along, even tumbling into whitewater as it passes by downtown Minneapolis.
The James is not like that. It is old and slow and wide. Sometimes, even up by Williamsburg, it can stop or flow backwards. You can throw in a stick, and just sit there and watch it not do much for an hour. When I was in college, I sometimes went and sat on the shore to think; it was calm there.
Things move slowly some places. But they do.
I have great admiration for those who can navigate slow waters.
