When the water is muddy

​          New Years' week,  cold, dark, pouding rain, at this dawning of 2017.    
The long awaited rains have returned with a vengence to Central California, making flooding a bigger concern than drought.   Here's a picture of my little stream--the cracked, empty creekbed of the last eight months-- is now a charging, swirling, muscular, muddy river, shoving whole trees down the valley towards the Pacific.

Life, like a river,  can look dry as dust--but is usually flowing underground.  It can bring devastating floods--but they carry rich soil for new growth.   It can gurgle along peacefully-- but around the next bend are wild rapids. And on it goes, until the river becomes one with the sea.  And on we go, too, until we also, presumably, merge with the great, mysterious beyond.  

 For me, the short days, long nights, dark skies, local tragedies and worrysome politics have settled in too comfortably, making optimism and hope harder to hold on to.   On the homefront, I buried my beloved old horse, Sugar, this week, in between rain squalls.   He came to us years ago, blind in one eye, and sway backed, but with such stamina and strength, and such a desire to please.  I have loved him so dearly.   But finally his old legs gave out, and he could no longer stand.  How I will miss his huge heart, the miles we rode together, and burying my face in his sweet, furry neck every evening at twilight.   This is a small sorrow, in a world of titanic heartaches, but today, it is mine.  The price for loving is always the same: losing.  Knowing this, we still love.  We wade in, or dive in, understanding that somehow it is always worth the cost.  

So, on dark days, we hunker down and simply hold on.  Eventually the light will return, and the view out our windows will change.   Mud in streams will settle; water will run clear.   Life always pushes forward; coming days will bring new babies, green leaves, birdsong and brighter days.  They don't replace our lost loves.  But they help dull the ache. Those we've lost, we carry with us, in our hearts, sometimes heavy as a satchel of boulders, othertimes, weightless as a scattering of sunlight.  

I chose this rendition of Down to the River to Pray (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BPoMIQHwpo) a gospel/folksong, performed by Alison Kraus, because rivers ARE a good place to pray and ponder, whatever our sorrows/joys/personal beliefs.  This song has a history in both Native American and Black American cultures.  It was a favored song for river baptisms, but some believe it is also a reference to the Underground Railroad, as freedom-seeking slaves often traveled in rivers to avoid detection.  The "Starry Crown" may  refer to the constellations above that guided thier journey.  The theme of rivers and freedom is universal.  May you be uplifted by Krauss's stunning voice,  by the bravery of your own heart, and by rivers and streams overflowing.  And lastly, a reluctant farewell to Sugar, galloping beyond my vision, but not beyond my love.

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