Thoughts From the Riverbank

I’ve learned to hear the voice of rivers. When I tell others of this, there seems to be no end to the variety of facial expressions....

Rivers start somewhere and they end somewhere. But it’s no small matter to remember that it’s still water at its core. Lots of changes...

Lydia was an elderly widow who lived alone in the deep north woods, about a mile from my boyhood home. I chopped her wood, hauled her...