the river

Even in Oregon, especially in Oregon, I am drawn to the water.

We'd talked about going to the blues festival. But in the end, she asked me to grab two bottles of red and go to the river to dip our feet in the cool water. To just talk for a while. And that’s what we did.

Drinking, smoking and talking. while young men did flips off the dock. The old man frowning at his fishing pole and contemplating a move upstream.

Learning once again why we became friends. Admiring her great beauty. Her strength. Her many accomplishments. Her beautiful family. Planning for when we'll once again live in the same time zone. The trips we’ll take together. To Seattle (her). To the theater and the opera (me). Hiking to distant rivers (her). A booze cruise at twilight (me). We balance each other. That’s why we stick.

Later I curled up on the davenport with a handmade afghan. Much later I slept. In her daughter’s bedroom on a soft mattress with even softer pink sheets and a bed that creaks softly when I roll on to my back. Dreaming.