My wife and I are travelling across the US and yesterday we crossed the Mississippi River. Crossing this major boundary, I was sad about leaving the western states, but also gladdened by memories of my life in the east. In particular, I was taken back to times in Virginia. The humidity, the dense deciduous forest, all made me feel like I was at the base of the Appalachians.
As my thoughts meandered, the unique mix triggered a memory of the poem below. It's one of the first I ever loved, and I think it sounds the way thoughts sound while I'm running.
Virginia
by T.S. Eliot
Red river, red river,
Slow flow heat is silence
No will is still as a river
Still. Will heat move
Only through the mocking-bird
Heard once? Still hills
Wait. Gates wait. Purple trees,
White trees, wait, wait,
Delay, decay. Living, living,
Never moving. Ever moving
Iron thoughts came with me
And go with me:
Red river, river, river.
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