the White River

In desperate need of rest but too tired to take a nap, I came walking to downtown Muncie.

On the way back, I descended to walk the path alongside the White River.  Ducks began to follow me, waddling expectantly, but I told them I had nothing for them.  The bagels I'd bought at Farmstand were still too frozen to share.  I saw a girl standing on the edge of a the bank where the water rushes over a dip.  She was smoking, and looked to be about twelve or thirty.  I tried to make eye contact with her, to tell her I approved of her mismatched leg-warmers of eccentric colors against the dark, rank background of the river, but she chose to unsee me.

It's amazing what nurturing effects a few trees and some dirty water can have on the soul.  The rush was loud enough to drown out my thoughts for a moment... long enough for me to take a break from the questions, those cigarette burns on my brain.

Seeing an overpass with some bright, inviting graffiti, I walked on.  It became a challenge to keep from stepping on geese poop, and after a while I stopped trying.  Beneath the arch, I sang an old hymn I'd learned years ago.  It echoed slightly, and I wondered if anyone on the street above could hear it.  I wondered whether they liked my voice.

I brought my ipod, but never ended up using it.

Somewhere along the duck poop mine-field, I came to the conclusion that I've spent too much time doing a lot of useless things that seem necessary, but don't do much to make me or anyone else happy.  It's time I begin to resee my life, and make some adjustments as my heart begins to thaw from a difficult winter.

I had left campus with no destination in mind but distance.  As I climbed the hill up to the road home, I knew I had come to the river to be rewashed.