Be the rock, or be the River.

Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing. Just to stop and to take it in, observe, without judgment, without expectations. No thought behind it, just quiet observation. Just to see what unfolds before you and to appreciate it for what it is. 

That is not how I began my day. I was, as usual, in a rush towards a goal. I had come to photograph a river, to get some images of water, and I was on the march to get there quickly, as if the river might suddenly disappear. It was about a mile into my goal from the trailhead, so I had some ground to cover, and for some reason, I thought I had to cover it quickly. I began my day in a hurry, impatient and inattentive.  

 Once I arrived at the river, the goal I was in such a hurry to achieve, I was still in a flurry of inattentive and frantic activity. It had been raining for two days prior, and this river was swollen to the brim. The water was rushing past the bush and the bramble that was right up to the water's edge. It was very difficult, if not impossible, to reach the banks of the river and to get a clear view. I found myself frustrated, unable to do the thing I had come to do. I, like the river, was rushing past everything in front of me, not thinking, not looking, not paying attention, just in a rush.

After walking briskly along the river to find anything, I came upon a clearing that let me reach the water's edge for a clear view of the water and the rocks that formed the banks and dotted the waters. It was not a large section of riverbank, only a few feet wide, so my options were limited. I was forced to stop and just observe.

In my simiforced stillness, I noticed one very large rock in the middle of the river. Shimmering in the early morning light. It stood stoically in the midst of the utter chaos of this swollen, furiously paced river. The rock was just standing there, watching everything pass by with all the patience in the world. It saw everything, noticed every bit of the river, felt it slip by. Heard every whisper and shout that the river had to voice. The rock was listening to the woods, the wind through the trees, the birds in their branches, the squirrels on the ground beneath them. The rock noticed everything. 

The river, in its quick and hurried pace, with its loud and blusterous voice, was in too big a rush to notice much of anything. The rock, however, was standing quietly in the midst of it all, staying put and just observing, and did not miss a thing. This is the moment I realized I could rush through life and miss all the beauty along the way. Or I could stop, take a breath, and just enjoy what is around me in the moment. I could be the rock, or I could be the river.