The river is high. The river is moodie.  The river knows its own way.

In the Rockies to the west, spring run-off is in full force. Water cascades down mountainsides, swelling streams and rivers to the east. They flow never-ending towards Hudson’s Bay in the far off distance.

Outside our windows, the Bow flows deep and strong. It creeps up its embankments, soaking low-lying flora in its passing.

The river is high.

This morning, grey clouds cover the sky. Rain is promised.

And I watch the river.

It is ‘the thing’ about living on the river. Even though we are not in a flood zone, I still watch it. With caution. Awe. Curiosity.

It is our first year of living along this river. We are learning its language. Learning its ways.

It is a journey of discovery. Of coming to terms with, what is and letting our desires for the river to be any any way than the way it is, abate.

It is a lesson in life.

Do not hold onto the way you want things to be. Accept they way they are. Accept what is, and let the water’s of life flow freely so that in your acceptance of ‘what is’ you can be all you need to be in the way you are.

And like the river flowing by, this too shall pass.

And like the river flowing by, this too shall pass.

The river is high.

I am learning to hear its voice. It is telling a flowing story of life.