Yesterday, I Needed Quiet

For the past few weeks, I’ve been sleeping more than I have in a long time. I’ll wake up only to fall back asleep again. Projects I’ve been excited about sit untouched. Chores around the house feel bigger than they should. I honestly don’t know why. I’m physically exhausted. Mentally too.

Yesterday was no different. I almost didn’t go. I didn’t get out of bed until about an hour before we were supposed to leave.

I’m so glad I did.

We usually float the river with music playing, but yesterday I needed quiet. I needed to hear the birds, the breeze moving through the trees, and the gentle rush of the river. I wanted to lay back on my tube and look up through the canopy overhead.

I still felt the weight of the last couple of days, so I found myself paying attention to every tiny piece of beauty I could find.

The damselflies found me almost immediately.

They weren’t the same ones. One would leave my arm only to have another land on my knee a few moments later. Sometimes there was one. Sometimes four. Once I counted six. Eventually, I stopped wondering if they would come back and started wondering which one would arrive next. I caught myself smiling every time I felt that tiny tickle before I even looked down.

I kept thinking about how something so tiny was navigating this enormous river that could swallow it in a second, yet it still braved it and chose to land on me for a little break.

Their landing was so light and cool, almost like the tiniest tickle. They landed on my legs, my arms, my toes, even my belly. Their wings were so delicate that when the sunlight caught them just right, I could see every tiny vein, every line, every detail that made each one unique. Some shimmered blue. Others were black and white. Many flew together, landing two at a time, their wings resting almost perfectly still.

The trees were just as captivating. There were so many different species that the canopy was constantly changing. Some leaves were a deep green while others almost looked silver when the breeze turned them over. The tops glowed in the sunlight while everything beneath remained tucked into cool shadows.

The water sparkled wherever the sunlight found it, reminding me of glitter being sprinkled across the surface.

The sun was intensely hot, but every breeze felt like a gift. Out in the open, the warmth settled over us. Drifting into the shade brought just enough coolness to make me appreciate every passing branch overhead.

The river carried its own scent. Most of it smelled like damp earth and summer. Every now and then we’d drift through a spot that smelled a little fishy, but it disappeared just as quickly. Then we passed a cluster of trees where the air suddenly turned sweet. I found myself taking a deeper breath, hoping to hold onto it just a little longer.

Willows have always been one of my favorite trees, perhaps even the tree I’d choose to become when I pass. Watching their branches sway gently over the riverbank, creating little pockets of shade beneath them, felt like such a beautiful contrast to the towering canopy stretching high above.

In some places I could hear rushing water, though I couldn’t always see where it was coming from. Fallen trees and debris lined parts of the river more than they had the year before, but it was still easy to pass through.

The riverbanks had changed too. Earlier this year, higher water and a stronger current had quietly claimed pieces of the shoreline. In places, the soil had washed away completely, exposing the intricate root systems of trees that still stood firmly above. It was incredible to see the part of their lives that normally remains hidden, their entire foundation woven deep into the earth.

Eventually we reached the end of our float.

We debated whether to stop and eat because I still wasn’t feeling quite like myself, but we did anyway. While we sat there, the lights flickered a few times. The sky slowly darkened. Outside, the treetops began swaying back and forth as if they were caught in an aggressive game of tug-of-war.

Then the rain came.

Not a gentle summer rain, but sheets of it. Sideways. Diagonal. Straight down. Every direction the wind decided to carry it.

Driving home, we passed tree after tree lying across the landscape. The top of a silo had been torn away. Branches covered roads. Power was out in so many places. Later, I started seeing reports of damage across multiple counties.

It was hard not to think back to those riverbanks we’d floated past only hours before. Earlier in the day, I’d stood there admiring the quiet ways water had shaped the land over time. By evening, I was driving through another reminder of its power.

When I got home, I showered the river off, talked to Caleb like I do most nights, climbed into bed, and collapsed.