Rivers

The oak leaves are dried and curled.  They float along sedately without, as far as I know, any purpose or any destination other than wherever the canal will take them.  They obey only the laws of gravity and physics. Their passage seems peaceful, unhurried, until they come to the little weir where they are pulled more swiftly over the small waterfall and tossed and whirled in the eddies at its base.  And then their journey is gentle again, ruled only by the water.

But here on the four lane southbound river of asphalt, each atom of a vehicle holds a driver with their own intention and destination.  They do not drift.  They obey, or disobey, laws about speed, laws about signaling, thugh they are not exempt from the laws of physics. They dart from lane to lane, seeking some minute advantage. Tributaries join the river, pouring in more vehicles, branches leave it, removing some. 

The sun is halfway between the eastern horizon and the zenith, so these are not commuters who fill the river. Is the grey haired woman in the red Prius going to visit her grandchildren?  Does the well dressed man in the silver Mercedes have a meeting to attend, or is it some other sort of assignation, or perhaps a visit to a doctor following up on a worrisome test result?  We can’t know.  But this river is filled with private purposes, entirely isolated from one another.  Unlike the leaves that let the water carry them as it will, each of these drivers chooses their own path.

We drive along at something above or below 65 miles an hour.  It is a bewilderingly fast pace.  Just four or five generations ago, not even a blink in evolutionary time, our ancestors traveled no faster than a horse could carry them.  Our nerves, our muscles, our brains, have not had time to adapt.  I feel the muscles in my arms and hands tighten and relax as I steer.  The muscles of my right leg and foot control the accelerator and brake – at times shifting rapidly in response to the taillights of the car ahead of me. My eyes are moving all the time – to the windshield, to the rear view mirror, to one side mirror and then the other, looking far ahead, looking close by. Adrenaline races through my system, and cortisol. If I think about what is happening around me, what I am participating in, the danger seems overwhelming, equaling the danger a predator might pose.

When we moved to Otsego County and went exploring on a two lane country road, we found ourselves behind two horse drawn buggies.  The Amish have not consented to live at 65 miles an hour.  Of course, if their grandchildren live 50 miles away, it’s not a casual visit.  So for the most part, families stay close together, accepting limitations on their choices.  Driving behind them, I did not feel impatient. I could feel my body relax. I could see a nest in a tree at the roadside. I could see a rabbit ducking into its burrow.

We choose our rivers.  The choices widen some freedoms and reduce others.  The oak leaves just fall, and have no other choice.