Always flowing nearby just out of sight. Been spending a lot of time with it, as I should. It's hot. Climbing the Hunter bluffs it's a blessing to fall in. You can feel the gorge sighing out when the sun goes down. The river defines this landscape. But it doesn't pulse the same and bring dirt and ruin every year anymore. It's really a squiggling interstate highway. The freight trucks lumber on. We're all connected to some supply chain, some branch on this very big river.
But it's also a moat. An object that demands your attention, demands bridges. I'm reading Rebecca Solnit's excellent River of Shadows (thanks Shane.) During the industrial revolution, photographers were just starting to take droplets from flowing time. Photos freeze just the smallest representative pieces of a great arc of being, these fluvial molecules in a vial. Stored and ordered and interpreted and obsessed over. Like fossils.
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