Rivers

I knew better then to go off the path, I knew to keep the River to Duwamish at my shoulder no matter where it led me.

The Route to Duwamish always changes you know.

Once it took me passed a ruined mining town, through a cemetery and above a town inhabited by ghosts. On another Journey to Duwamish it led me through a city I use to live in as a girl, below a monastery and into the Catacombs there. Once I went to a great party at a Marina that took place in the 1920's... and that was in 2003 and I wasn't born until 1964 but who cares?

It was a great time.

This time the River was going towards the Mountains.

I thought we were going in the wrong direction- I’m not sure why other then it felt odd.

I went along because the River knows what it knows.

Then I saw this Creek, and along side of it was a washed out road and leaning against a tree at the beginning of the road where I was standing was a rope and a pick and my Aunt's leather bomber jacket she wore as a young woman back in the 1940's when she started flying.

I took it as a sign and grabbed the jacket, put it on and took the rest of the tools with me.

I looked back and the River was still and then as I walked away it bubbled and roared.

I didn't look back. I was afraid to; I was afraid of what I would see.

I went up a gravel trail that slowly turned to what I thought was solid stone and it got colder and colder and now I'm at the edge of a new river.

It’s made of ice and its very dark and cold here.

Very Dark.


© text anita marie moscoso 2005