Edge of the Riverbank

The deafening silence of the early morn seemed to cling to the mist,
and I watched as my breath rose slowly in the slight chill of the pre-
dawn hours.

I stood there for a moment, patiently pausing at the edge of the
meadow, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the moment. Then,
methodically, I closed my eyes. Ever so slowly, the meadow seemed
to come alive around me.
rickets began to sing a familiar tune against the backdrop of
misshapen shadows. ! chorus of deep throated croaks met my ears as
lovelorn frogs boldly announced their furtive intentions and the end of
their marked slumber. There was a soft whisper of wind rustling the
leaves, and the random scraping of branches. ! slight gurgle, a ripple
in the water, the softest of instruments came to light. The distant call
of a lonely bird punctuated the darkness like a beacon pulsing. The
piercing song of a cicada came through like the addition of drawn out
cymbals. It was like listening to a perfectly choreographed orchestra.
I listened intently to the sounds of nature that surrounded me. "ou can
only fully embrace the symphony with your eyes closed. It is only then
that you hear the instruments you cannot see with the eyes, but you
must listen to with the mind and feel with the heart.
I opened my eyes and peered, straining into the darkness for a
moment. The grass was heavy and laden with dew and, ever so
faintly, I could see the drops glistening like little diamonds across the
meadow, fading into the tall shadows of the trees. The air was fresh
and clean, as the pungent scent of damp earth and decaying leaves
mingled with the fresh morning dew and leftover rain.
The river bank was soft and damp, cool to the touch. It was like an old
blanket, comfortable and familiar. #ilently, I took it all in.
I sat down for a moment. It was only then that I opened my eyes. I
blinked in the mist. $y eyes %&ated on a single line of indigo twilight
that seemed to dance upon the hori'on.
I drew a breath in, long and slow, and %lled my lungs with the cool
morning air, softly scented with pine and %r. There was a peace here, a
peace like no other that I(ve ever known, a peace that doesn(t e&ist in
the real world. It(s a peace that you can only %nd on the edge of a
lonely bank, ne&t to a river, between the meadow and the forest)
somewhere between a whisper and a dream) in the quiet of the early
morn*, before the world wakes up) away from the hustle and bustle of
the city, and from the noise and confusion of everyday life)
somewhere that transcends the present reality and reaches into the far
recesses of yesteryear, to a simpler place and time) far away from the
madding crowd.