Tuesday, September 11, 2007


Where Go The Boats?

Dark brown is the river.

Golden is the sand.

It flows along for ever,

With tree on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating,

Castles of the foam,

Boats of mine a-boating-

Where will all come home?

On goes the river,

And out past the mill,

Away down the valley,

Away down the hill.

Away down the river,

A hundred miles or more,

Other little children

Shall bring my boats ashore.

Robert Louis Stevenson

A train that crosses this river trestle is rushing by right now. I love the melancholy whistle interrupting the silence of night. I also love the sight of my children discovering nature.

Whether you mourn this day or rejoice it, remember we will all be away down the river one day. How will you leave the world for the children to come?

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