At the Foot of a Waterfall, a Still Pool

We are in the midst of a pandemic and many activities we took for granted are suddenly off the table. My husband had a stroke, and all the rituals we practiced together each day are on hold. Suddenly, I found myself driven to gather pictures of waterfalls on Pinterest. 

You'd think the chute of water would symbolize how out-of-control my life had proven to be. There might be something to that interpretation of why I found myself drawn to waterfalls. Yet, when I gathered them, I felt relief. As I found more examples, I started being more discriminating about the ones I kept. Slowly, I told myself what I was doing. 

The pictures of waterfalls I loved gave me a feeling of peace. 

I have a long history with rivers. The modest and lovely Chewaucan river runs through the town I grew up in. In July and August, particularly, many of us would go to The Falls, the favorite swimming hole another mile upstream from the mill. The drop where water rolled over tall stones was only a couple feet. We could scramble up, if we wished, or swim against the current to create minutes of play in a tight space. We could wade a little farther downstream, cooling off on hot afternoons, or drape ourselves on rocks to gather sun. 

The only area deep enough to swim was just past the waterfall. That small chute had dug out a deep pool. 

I feel like this is truth: great force leads to great stillness. The fastest moving, strongest currents create the deep, still pools. Activity and rest alternate, however much we resist one or the other. 

Doug is doing very well for someone who had a stroke. I called the ambulance for him on April 30th. He went to rehab on May 18th, no longer needing constant monitoring and ready to rebuild himself for new challenges. Is everything happening on the schedule I'd wish? No. Yet the new pool built by this cascade will have its depth, its loveliness, and its peace.