outdoor refreshment
I hugged my knees and inched back a bit while a modest torrent of river water torpedoed around me. The spout and splay of swiftly moving riverwater sent up quite a din; a calming din which made speaking unnecessary. Friend # 7 was situated next to me, her office-whitened legs setting off my kayak-browned ones, and we each sighed a deep euphoric sigh of quiet happiness.
We were sitting in a waterfall. In, amongst, and deliciously surrounded by chutes of clear, churning, chilly, and cheerful blue-black swash-buckling liquid. The heat of the day was pushed back by a wave of watery-coolness. Back home, dinner was already prepared. No other task was left but to allow the brisk current to whisk our worries downstream.
Talk about water under the bridge.
We had taken advantage of a hot, hot, hot August late afternoon by driving to Chamberlain Corners, where there ain't much but four corners. But Chamberlain Corners boasts a stone bridge which spans a merry stretch of the Grasse River; a stretch which occasionally beckons me to frolic -and frolic we did.
We clambered down the bank by traversing the stepping-stone edge of the old bridge, waded through shallow riffs of a sparkling and humming brook, and picked our way through green puddles and shrub-shadowed inlets until we came to the white froth of busy waters. There we picked out a spot to plunk ourselves down in order to feel the plunging wet stuff smack our backsides and yank at our heels.
Not much time passed, or much time passed; I'm not really sure.
But later, when we situated our drippy selves back into my red PT, bath towel draped over the front seats, we felt as refreshed as if we had a week's vacation.
And that's all I have to say about it.
We were sitting in a waterfall. In, amongst, and deliciously surrounded by chutes of clear, churning, chilly, and cheerful blue-black swash-buckling liquid. The heat of the day was pushed back by a wave of watery-coolness. Back home, dinner was already prepared. No other task was left but to allow the brisk current to whisk our worries downstream.
Talk about water under the bridge.
We had taken advantage of a hot, hot, hot August late afternoon by driving to Chamberlain Corners, where there ain't much but four corners. But Chamberlain Corners boasts a stone bridge which spans a merry stretch of the Grasse River; a stretch which occasionally beckons me to frolic -and frolic we did.
We clambered down the bank by traversing the stepping-stone edge of the old bridge, waded through shallow riffs of a sparkling and humming brook, and picked our way through green puddles and shrub-shadowed inlets until we came to the white froth of busy waters. There we picked out a spot to plunk ourselves down in order to feel the plunging wet stuff smack our backsides and yank at our heels.
Not much time passed, or much time passed; I'm not really sure.
But later, when we situated our drippy selves back into my red PT, bath towel draped over the front seats, we felt as refreshed as if we had a week's vacation.
And that's all I have to say about it.
posted by thisrequiresthought at 8:38 PM
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