"Now, it's mature," Silas said, pointing across the wide expanse of water. "Look at it. Because it slowed down, it has room for the tributaries to join it, making it bigger and stronger than it ever was in the hills. It carries the soil that makes the farmers' fields so green. It has deep, calm places where the big fish can sleep and where we can sit and talk."
A young boy, Silas's grandson Leo, sat beside him. Leo was full of the restless, bubbling energy of a mountain stream. He threw a stick into the water and frowned when it didn’t instantly zoom away. "Why is it so slow here, Grandpa? Up by the old mill hills, the water flies!"
It had grown broad and deep, its waters moving with a deliberate, heavy grace. No longer did it try to smash through the earth. Instead, it had learned the art of compromise, gracefully winding and meandering across the landscape in vast, sweeping loops. It carved gentle U-shaped valleys and deposited rich, golden silt along its widening floodplains.
Silas smiled, his eyes reflecting the calm, glassy surface of the water. "That's because the river is grown up here, Leo. When it was up in the mountains, it was young and impatient. It wanted to get to the sea as fast as it could, so it fought everything in its way. It didn't have time to carry anything or help anyone." "And now?" Leo asked.
The river was no longer the wild, crashing youth it had once been high in the jagged peaks. Back then, it was all fury and foam, cutting a sharp, angry V-shaped valley into the cold stone. It had rushed headlong without looking back, tossing boulders aside like pebbles.
On its banks sat an old fisherman named Silas. He had watched the river for seventy years, and he often thought the river looked exactly how he felt.
Leo nodded, finally understanding. He leaned back against the roots of a bowing willow tree and watched the mature river roll patiently toward the distant, waiting sea. Troubled Waters: A Mississippi River Story
"Now, it's mature," Silas said, pointing across the wide expanse of water. "Look at it. Because it slowed down, it has room for the tributaries to join it, making it bigger and stronger than it ever was in the hills. It carries the soil that makes the farmers' fields so green. It has deep, calm places where the big fish can sleep and where we can sit and talk."
A young boy, Silas's grandson Leo, sat beside him. Leo was full of the restless, bubbling energy of a mountain stream. He threw a stick into the water and frowned when it didn’t instantly zoom away. "Why is it so slow here, Grandpa? Up by the old mill hills, the water flies!" matures rivers
It had grown broad and deep, its waters moving with a deliberate, heavy grace. No longer did it try to smash through the earth. Instead, it had learned the art of compromise, gracefully winding and meandering across the landscape in vast, sweeping loops. It carved gentle U-shaped valleys and deposited rich, golden silt along its widening floodplains. "Now, it's mature," Silas said, pointing across the
Silas smiled, his eyes reflecting the calm, glassy surface of the water. "That's because the river is grown up here, Leo. When it was up in the mountains, it was young and impatient. It wanted to get to the sea as fast as it could, so it fought everything in its way. It didn't have time to carry anything or help anyone." "And now?" Leo asked. It carries the soil that makes the farmers' fields so green
The river was no longer the wild, crashing youth it had once been high in the jagged peaks. Back then, it was all fury and foam, cutting a sharp, angry V-shaped valley into the cold stone. It had rushed headlong without looking back, tossing boulders aside like pebbles.
On its banks sat an old fisherman named Silas. He had watched the river for seventy years, and he often thought the river looked exactly how he felt.
Leo nodded, finally understanding. He leaned back against the roots of a bowing willow tree and watched the mature river roll patiently toward the distant, waiting sea. Troubled Waters: A Mississippi River Story