Archives for July 1990

Whites Run – II

Seneca Rocks, WV

Rivers and water ways have always been a vital part of the life of all living things. Moments ago, sitting on the bank of a calm, gentle stream, I had become quite accustomed to the droning, rhythmic sound of the falling water.

Leaving the water behind to run its course, the sound began to change. Suddenly, the babble of a small stream had changed to the roar of a larger river. I returned to the water to watch what once were footsteps turn into meager obstacles for an unending flow of energy, force, and life. The sheer spontaneity with which the water ways alter themselves makes clear the infinite power of a single drop of water.

The air too has changed — as though the river were not content to simply flow in her banks — instead, through mists and sprays, the air is filled with the joy that no stream bed can contain. Sing, laugh, rejoice — the rains have come to bring life!

And with the onslaught of more water, much is sent adrift. Sticks, rocks, logs along the shores — they have waited, perhaps for weeks, for the river to carry them onward. With its arrival, these free loading passengers joyously bob over all that is in their path.

I watch from the shores as so many things pass me by and I feel an incredible urge to just leap into the center of the current to see where it would like to take me.

As I walk the sides of this newly formed water course, I come to the junction of still another feeder stream. This, however, has remained unchanged by the rains further away. It’s odd to think that one fork could so dramatically change her character while her sister arms merely smile as they join her.

Whites Run – I

Copyright (C), 1998, by Ashley Guberman

Whites Run – I

Seneca Rocks, WV

Sitting on the edge of a stream bed, in a place where it intersects a dirt road, I feel I am watching the cross road of two distinct paths.

The stream flows gently down the rocks, sweeping small sticks, leaves and seeds from the banks and deposits them far from home. There is a gentle, soothing sound as the water cascades over the obstacles in its path, and all seems as it should be. The course of the water runs through forests, fields, swamps, along the sides of roads, and through small towns.

The road, rocky, old and worn, follows a different course. It leads through fields and meadows and up into the hills. While the stream takes water on its perpetual journey to the ocean, these back-country roads take man into the hills.

Now and again, the two cross each other. Though an unnatural intrusion at first, these roads are the fingers we use to reach out and grasp the beauty of the land on its sides.

Whites Run – II

Copyright (C), 1990, by Ashley Guberman