a river runs through it
To love without knowing how to love wounds the person we love. Thich Nhat Hanh said that. Or something like it.
I sat on the river bank this morning. Before the fog had a chance to lift into the sky. Wondering how many people I’ve wounded. Because I didn’t love them right. Because I didn’t know how to. Even though I thought I did.
A crane swept by. A long-necked, dinosaur-looking bird. Pa says it’s the only one that lives here. The only one that ever has. I watched it follow the river, out of sight.
The Tug Fork of the Big Sandy. The first place I was ever from.