Shadows and light beside the Rio Grande
Upon her frozen waters I walk. Here upon the once and future mighty Rio Grande, here so high and wild where she flows untamed still, here before her waters have been blocked and dammed, diverted from where they once flowed free, demanded regardless of her indifference to who stakes claims in her frozen waters, her flowing waters, the snow on these mountains above her that will become her. She is cold and hard beneath my heavy boots.
With each step there is hesitation. Will she hold? The snow on the surface hides the measure of ice below. It is a guessing game, perhaps, or a matter of trust, blind trust, in a layer of ice hidden but assumed. I hold my breath and try to be lighter, disperse my weight between my steps, exhale as I settle in and feel the solid flooring.
Now she sleeps, silent and still. There are no demands, no calls, no claims that disturb her weighty sleep.
Listen. At first she is soundless, then a faint hum, a muffled gurgling and rippling, a hushed but distinct resonance only flowing waters can create, life beneath the frozen facade, the sound sings the story. The river is alive.
Flaws in the smooth white course of the surface reveal open pockets to rushing black water below.
Shadows and hoarfrost where once the waters flowed