Eddies

The morning began quietly. I woke before the birds, before the sun, and pulled my lean-to shelter to the shore of My River to serve its second use as raft. With the cup of my hands I drank from my river and splashed its water to clear the night's earth-bed smear from my cheeks. My final raucous heave woke my attention to the tentative whispering whistle of many small bird-voices and the soft glow of dawn's entreaty for day.
I clamber over the edge of the raft and dig my fingers into the clefts of two pairs of logs separated by the span of my arms, my face turned upwards to the brightening of gaps in My Great Forest Canopy. An aggressive wind assures me of the coming storm, but I am comfortable in the judgment of my downstream journey's brevity. So in this moment in my forest, as with so many others felt since my joining it, I wait and drift...