when the river calls

I took a walk with my husband this last Sunday morning.  It was wonderfully foggy and these photos really don’t do justice to the magic that is the Wisconsin River Valley. 

Words to describe it completely escape me. 

We walked amongst the sidetrails that I have walked hundreds of times before with Grandpa Anderson, so many years past.  For the zillionth time, I told my husband that this is the river where I was born on a cold, winter night and that there’s still no time between then and now.  I thought about mentioning how I’m quite certain I was once a catfish and that I know what it feels like to skim along the river bed.  I didn’t.  I have told him many times before then and I will tell him many times again.  

  




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