Bless and bless the sweet cold river, the birds and the fishes, the gators (we saw two) and the people, yes, we have to bless them too.
All of it soothed me, cooled me, filled me.
The man as well.
His hand on my old age spotted leg, his heart as big as a cypress tree. As big as the sky. As steady as the river.
When I was holding the boat at the dock, waiting for Glen to pull the trailer down, I talked to a woman who is a massage therapist and a self-proclaimed street preacher. I was holding a beer and she said, "Don't be worried to drink in front of me. I have a buzz myself."
I sort of knew that and was not worried one bit.
There were babies of all colors and a man in a wheelchair pulled far enough into the river for him to receive the blessings of it. His woman hovered over him and did not get farther than arm's length from him. Children swinging off the rope swing to fall into the spring head with a splash. Kayakers and folks in canoes, air boats and little jon boats. Girls in bikinis and men with man buns. Pregnant ladies and men throwing out lines for fish. Redneck guys soaking in the water, beers in hand, giving shit to the fifteen-year old kid running a canoe rental business right there at the beach.
"We give him shit," said one of them to me, "but he knows we love him." They bragged on him.
"Fifteen years old!" they said. "And if you get stuck, he'll come get you in his boat. Like if you get too drunk or something. He'll come tow you out!"
What a good day.
Our friend who lends us his flats boat sent over four kid chairs that he salvaged, repaired and painted.
They are like an art project. They remind me of Mexico. I love them. Four chairs for four grands.
One sad note. My old hen Miss Trixie is dying, I think. Her poop has been really weird and she hasn't come out of the hen house all day, but is sitting up on the roost. She is my croon-singing hen.
I sure will miss her.
I am so thankful for this day where my feet got to squish in the mud of the river where beneath me lay the bones of fantastical animals long gone, the tools of people who lived here eons past, the shells of tiny creatures. Where dragon flies and damsel flies darted and landed on me to rest for awhile. Where the river received and revived me and baptized me in the name of water.
Which is holy.