What the River Says

We know well these few miles of the Great Allegheny Passage.

Just six miles from the house, we can hop on the trail here and ride west all the way to Pittsburgh, or east all the way to Georgetown.

May is fine for that, warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and the insect population not yet in explosion.

Years ago we volunteered to keep an eye on our home section. We have ridden it countless times. But today we are on foot for a slower, closer communion.

The river is our companion, and we could tell you where we are by the sound of it: rapids close to the Markleton cut, the stereo rush of Islers Run close to the bridge, and further down, silence as it runs away from us, then returns like distant applause 140 feet below us when we round the horn and cross High Bridge.

It is as if we hovered above the domed ceiling of a concert hall just after the final crescendo of a masterwork.

And to that we say, "Bravo!"

copyright 2010 J. O'Brien
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