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Rivers have loomed large this past week in my awareness. As Shawn and I made our way down to Texas from our last gig with Davy in the D.C. area, we made a brief stop in Memphis to pay homage to the history of that city. We walked up and down Beale Street, taking in the sights and sounds (such as they were on a Wednesday afternoon); the names of the many legends on the Brass Notes Walk of Fame; the starkness of W.C. Handy’s little shotgun house; the overt influence that New Orleans had (and surely still has) on that place.

When we arrived in Memphis, it was a hot and sunny afternoon. After we’d been exploring for a while, the sky in the west grew very dark with a coming storm. We got back to our car in the nick of time and drove ourselves and our lunch in a downpour to a park that overlooks the Mississippi, where I took this week’s photo.

As we sat in the car and ate and looked out through the storm, I imagined the many folks in another time who made their way up that mighty river, landing and settling and filling the city with their music and their customs and whatever else they could carry with them on those riverboats.

This past week, there’s been a lot of rain back home in NH and ME, and the lazy rivers of home have been raging and swelling beyond their banks and boundaries, tumbling over the very rocks that have shaped them, and that will continue to be shaped in return.

I’ve also been thinking of the many folks in Fort Myers along and at the mouth of the Caloosahatchee, who will be cleaning up from the devastation there for a very long time to come.

Drop by drop, everything will eventually be carried to the sea, to the place from which all life on our beautiful Earth home originated. Isn’t it awesome to be able to experience any sliver of it in the meantime?

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