Living at the edge of the river, I am conscious of its flow.

Winter snows are melting further to the west. The mountains are casting off their snowy blankets and fields are drying out. The waterways are swollen with the fullness of spring run-off.

There is flooding in other communities in southern Alberta. I watch the river beside our home intently.

In 2013, this broad stretch of water flooded. It flowed over the homes to the west of us covering the neighbouring community in dark and murky water. A neighbour tells me it reached our fence line, and while they were without power for four days, and the street was evacuated, there was no damage to our homes which stand on a bluff 8 feet higher than the other side.

I watch the river intently.

I see the difference in the height of the waterline against the buttresses of the bridge.

There is power in the river.

I love its flow. The gentle lapping of each ripple flowing ever eastward towards Hudson’s Bay far, far away.

In the mornings after my walk with Beaumont, I stand outside our door and listen to the river below. It sounds happy,like it is singing a song of greeting for the morning. Music to start my day.

I carry its music with me.

I live along the river. It is a beautiful place. Serene. Peaceful. There are two bridges not far away. The closest carries people from one side to the other, the further one, traffic. And though the bridge is not far away, the noise is never enough to drown out the sounds of the river racing along its course.

There is always music in the river.

I carry its music with me.