Since it got cold, I haven't been out on the river much. Well, not at all. But I like to go down there near it, so after I finish with my gym workout at Stansbury Hall, I walk the rail-trail home, and these days, it's dark.
Last night, across the Decker's Creek bridge near Oliverio's Restaurant, I stopped in a particularly dark spot (the better to see by) and there I saw a blue heron walking through the water. I dare say that most people would not have seen it. This happens to me a lot around the river. It wants me to see things, and I do. The heron is so elegant, its long neck moving forward first, then its legs, in a kind of dance through the cold, dark water. Solitary, silent, standing in the ancient, endless water.
The river is beautifuly at night. It seems like, what? I can't really describe it: like a being of some sort, its current and length to the Gulf, and fish and herons, and somewhere, pushing barges, a tow boat headed to Baton Rouge, and the cook is washing the dishes and the pilot listens to a radio as he steers.
Here's a movie of one of our last trash hauls. Maureen, first mate, is cleaning up the Monongahela Monitor.