Kamo

She is a pair of hands, her comforting motherly touch was the greatest blessing of this trip. Along her banks I rode, sometimes frantically sometimes less, and found in her reflections beauty, desire, joy, patience, care, mystery. But a list is inappropriate. Instead I would like to present her as she is, a line, a partition punctuated by sporadic intervals of people, fragile yet confident beings in this immense body of shallow water. These notes, mothers, fishermen, couples and bikers are once again united. They are one. One composition, one ode to life. As I rode, stopped, sat, laughed, sang, I felt like every centimeter of the journey was making me more aware of the relationship of her presence and her inhabitants. Her sight could wash my thoughts, bathe them but also set them adrift. There I could finally appreciate the continuation of the outline and color of a cloud sharing its fluffiness in the trees only to then be exploded in her reflections as the many stones sitting on the shore. All were there, disguised as each other, the clouds, trees, pebbles and stones, the water, the stilts, the people for a costume party I seemed to be crashing. As this soothing meditative process of “unification” carried on, I also realized a simple beautiful detail which to me summarized it all:
Her waters are shallow enough to be walked in but deep enough to seem endless by night.

That day I hummed alternating back and forth between Moon River (from the Bad Education soundtrack, I follow rivers (Lykke Li), and London Calling

(The Clash) as if they were one same song, to one same river.

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