America’s mightiest river.
As kids we often drove behind the levees to make sure the river was still there, like visiting an old relative. Often taken for granted, yet always needed. Driving into Memphis, we held our breath on the bridge spanning the river. A game we played in route to the Zoo or Goldsmith’s or the Mid-South Fair. It was a l-o-n-g way over. My lungs were never strong enough.
We weren’t allowed to swim in the river. But I waded in to my knees once. In high school. The only time in my life I was afraid of water, the undertow wicked.
Providing for all of us.
|2011 The River from Memphis Bridge|
Still mighty and majestic. Our soul.
|Port of Osceola August 2012|
“The poetry of the earth is never dead.”
― John Keats