Down to the Mighty Mississip'

Annie Dillard comes to mind as I wander, in mind and body, drinking in the river, the bright blue and rough flood waters pouring down through the open dam, the tranquil, flat grey ribbon that is the Mississippi just a few hundred yards later, as it flows east to west. As I breathe in and just become one with the river and the sky and the birds...do I lose the becoming with the thought that I will just be, just stop thinking and become a part of it? Do the moments right after, even during the time when I let go and be, do they count, or have I already given in to thought and words and descriptions simply in thinking the thought, "let go."

As I ride along, I free myself not to worry about whether or not I have become hopelessly entangled in the same twists and warpings of thought and worry I wished to avoid on this early morning ride. This is a cleansing time, a time for pleasure in the spring morning, the wind, the sun, the budding trees; a week past the first furtive, pale green ideas of leaves sprouting forth all around me, now full-on leaves and blooms everywhere you look. The pinks, lavenders and violets riot with color and snow down petals. So brief! comes to mind, like life, and that thought too, is squashed back down by the choice not to think, just to enjoy, to revel, here and now, to be.