We slept in the spot where two rivers meet. Those rivers, called the Mississippi and the Wisconsin, were bursting their banks, flooding nearby lowlands as they had done naturally for generations. Now, though, their waters are destructive. There is “loss of property” widespread, and we have conversations about how to better maintain/contain/restrain the overflowing rivers.
The view was spectacular, and I watched from my hammock as the birds of prey circled, far below me which was still far above the tree line. Perspective, then, was at its most. I pictured myself with wings, joining the flight for a feast. Would I soar? Ride the hot air down and around and back again? I watched how tiny rapids made their way between the trunks of trees which had never before known the embrace of the waters. New, wet, friends. I imagined myself as a catfish, roaming new bottoms and finding all the excitement of new ground.
We found trails which led us to the edge of the cliffs, so that we held on for dear life, tested each rock before stepping, found courage to creep closer to the edge and farther from comfort. Fear has no place here. The morning dew seemed to not get the message that it was afternoon, and everything wept. Lichens provided little friction, but did play their part in pulsing green. Dense, thick carpets making us want to lie down and dream of a world which actually looked quite like the exact one we found ourselves enjoying in our waking lives. If there is a space between the lucidity, it is here and there are fairies.
Wyalusing State Park
Bagley, Wisconsin
Spring 2019
Kelly Green Guilbeau 