River

You could come to this place
and discover nothing
if you bring along
your own noise,
your own chaos.

Because, like so much that is sacred,
silence is the only entryway.

So we leave it all behind,
climb into our canoe
and let the water lull us
as this hidden world
comes alive.

Below the surface,
through clear water,
thousands of glimmering fish
work the current.

We catch a glimpse
of two sleek otters
playing along the bank,
slipping in and out of the water.

A basking turtle,
having traversed
a protruding tree limb,
sleepily eyes us passing.

The whisper of our oars
startles a blue heron
who soundlessly lifts its wings
and soars downstream.

Further along, a small mink
has wandered down to the water
for a cool drink
on a hot day.

Overhead, underwater,
all around,
life flourishes
and expands.

This is the river.

We breathe in its freshness,
its mystery,
its heady grace.

At day’s end,
we glide onto the gravel bar
and disappear,
leaving no mark behind,
carrying this sacred gift
inside
as we go.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith