Trust Your Despair

He looked up, searching, beard glistening, now sacrament, lifted from the torrent that surrounded us. “Listen,” he said, his voice competing with the din, a roar of water and stones. I tried to focus, adjusted my footing, strained sideways, body numb, heaviness a failed anchor. Away from the moment I saw a woman, floating downstream, slipping around rocks like planets, soft focus, beauty revealed, face to the sky, sliding across lifetimes.

“Look,” he said, beckoning me back, grace deferred. “Sometimes the ones you want to see on the other side - catching their breath- dryin' in the sun. Sometimes the rocks afoot slippery, the packs heavy. The man, the horse behind you, cant see the bottom or hear for the sound. But here, in this here river, you grab the line and don’t let go.” He took in the slack - wrapping elbow to hand , and paused . “The best ones washed away but now we don’t let go.”