The River's Story

Summer started suddenly here in central Virginia as if someone had simply flipped a switch. After moderate daytimes and cool nights in Murrieta California I found 95 degrees and significant humidity in Washington on Monday afternoon. The jet way at Dulles Airport was stifling and my cheap self even turned on the air conditioning in the car on the way home.

Yesterday and today it’s been in the mid to upper 90’s and the humidity has peaked in the mid 80’s. That’s summer in the South.  Just upstream of the Falmouth bridge, a dozen herons gather at sunset to feed in the last rapids of the Rappahannock River, standing among the wet rocks as old men might stand by a lake in a park except they do not shuffle about. Instead they are immobile, like sculptures, immobile that is until a silver sided bit of dinner flashes in the water and brings them to life. 

Below Falmouth, The River is low and slow, the water a deep olive color.  It murmurs its story as it slowly glides between the river banks of Stafford County and Fredericksburg. This year I’m going to listen for that River Murmur and the story it tells me. There will be plenty of time to gripe about the heat and humidity in August but for now, I’m going to listen to the news from upstream.

Comments

[Nikki]

I really love your descriptions of the river. Very visual and soothing.

[Jane]

Jim -- as unseasonably hot as it's been, is it possible the river was grumbling, not murmuring? What do you think?