25 Comments

my father raised me to always greet a river with respect....and from time to time indulge in a game of Pooh sticks.

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That was a great start you had in life. I reckon that the rivers play around with the sticks while they are under the bridge - just to keep us on our toes :-)

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Beautiful and truthful words to describe a river . Always a moving rendition . The beat changes with the current, its contents affect the notes, the temperature changes the tune.I am seated on a boulder near a river, in an outdoor museum of your words , quietly in awe .

“The river winks, flows on, and begins the joy of her evening song.”

I wish this continued on, I could read an entire novel.

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Ah, Lor. Isn't that the biggest spider's web - touch one part of it and all the others stretch and adjust to accommodate you. Pass my respectful regards to your river when you are next together :-)

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"I am seated on a boulder near a river, in an outdoor museum of your words , quietly in awe."

Me too Lor, me too!

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What a beautiful thing to read on a cold, foggy morning in Ireland. Thank you for this offering and contemplation. I think it will resonate strongly with anyone who has been claimed by a place.

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Thanks, Ramona. Yes, don't some places just gobble you up :-)

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David - as always, your writing causes me to wonder - and wander. What have I been missing and what could I see, if I took the time to really, really look? Yes, words of a place can have the energy of the place and too often I jump over the place and the words. As in my yoga practice, it is time that makes the difference - between just doing and being present. Then perhaps we might find subtle nuances that we hadn’t seen before. Thank you!

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Yes, you are quite right. The wrinkles and runckles that appear when we let our busy little fingers rest for a while on the face of the world.

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Hmmm. I’ll have to listen more carefully from now on. I’m not near the great river that runs through my city much, me disabled and the river’s bank high and steep, but I will listen more closely to the birdsong — what birds remain in our northern Canadian winter. I know the chickadees do! Thank you David. As always, I am enchanted!

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Oh heavens, Heather. 'northern Canadian winter' - there's a prompt to dreams and wild speculation. Listen closely :-)

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Nov 17Liked by David Knowles

Oh! I shall!! There seems to be some crows that have stuck around, I know that much!

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It is a great wisdom to salut a river, to show respect on passing, I too can not cross or pass water without peering into its depths...

You make me smile, I don't think I could have ever imagined such literary elegance from someone who describes himself as a 'clodhopper' until I read you David!

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Hi Susie, what a pair of hopeless gazers we are :-) I don't know how we ever get anything done.

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I was just nattering away to the stream gurgling happily in the bottom of my valley, ‘are you ok?’ came the message from home as night closed in? A quiick translation and I realise I have forgotten the bread in the oven! I guess there is an order of importance David, streams and rivers, fairies (shhh..) and small creatures come first…

May your weekend be hilled with hopeless gazing! :-)

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Thank you for this magic ride!

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Oh, thank you, Liz for coming along. I love that technique you use in "a poem song bridge dance jig wren-trill flight and flow of things from this and other worlds" - reminds me of some of Rody Gorman's intertonguings :-)

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Nov 14Liked by David Knowles

I shall have to look for Rody Gorman, though 'intertonguing' sounds a little alarming for this time of the morning!!!

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stunning

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Thanks, Susan. Kind of you to get back

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you have a wonderful gift

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The most calming and relatable piece I've read in ages. A balm. Thank you.

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That is kind of you, Laura. I'm glad it did something useful out in the word world :-)

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The perfect way to start my morning, with talk of winking rivers and dancing mayflies. Thank you. 🙏🏻

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Thanks, Alice. And you so close to the water. What a thought.

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