ALL SOULS DAY ON THE HEADWATERS OF THE METOLIUS RIVER
Streams and tributaries.
These are the streams and tributaries.
Streams and tributaries of the Metolius.
This is a surfacing of the underground river.
Walking again. Walking after driving.
Walking lost. Driving lost with maps.
Sixteen miles out of Sisters on 20 West.
Turning onto Metolius River Camp
Camp Sherman store
but that’s not where I want to start.
Water that comes from below,
from the monk’s vows,
obedience and bifurcation.
Far from the fish hatchery.
Surrounded by spring and bounce, so many
unreadable maps, the brown needles
from pines falling with each breeze
with so many options for grief,
bringing this bronze light
this river walk asks our ancestors
to follow story tellers
along this riverbank
canceling all fireworks,
surefootedness in mud.
Miss the turn and end up at Camp Sisters,
headwaters, but not the trail.
Among all that I don’t know, this:
a full-sized river, the Metolius,
flowing ice-cold, springs appearing
originating from beneath Black Butte
what park signs say.
Geologists call this misleading,
believing springs have their origin
in the Cascade Mountains to the west.
An underground river.
Free flowing, spring-fed.
These are singers who have traveled to get here.
Samhain. Dias de los Muertos.
And today, All Souls Day.
Singers have been asked to open the trail.
What music in cold water.
Water nutrient rich. Plants, insects, fish.
A restoration project before hikers walking in rain.
Resident and migratory fish thriving. Look.
Rain so steady I return to the car, change coat and hat.
Native Redband trout prey on insects.
Down river endangered bull trout
feed on small fish.
Fall colors splashing against the rain.
Red sockeye migrate from Pacific.
A man walks over to me, points
to still water, Kokanee right beside me
on the bank, not a foot away.
Cross the bridge to fish hatchery.
Signs on trail: Target invasive plants--
Reed Canary, Ribbon Grass, Perennial Pea,
Yellow Flag Iris. Herbicides used:
Polaris, Roundup Custom.
Tributaries and restoration sites.
Colors showing up for the camera in changing light.
The trail, all the way to Bridge 99
is no more than two feet from the river.
The man just picking up his mail.
Steady drizzle percussion drops on hat brim.
Big gulping water songs from deep river.
Standing bass jazz solos. Pressure rising.
Beside my feet, eight inch wood markers
with blue restoration ribbons.
Baby trees to the left of trail.
Grasses growing from fallen trees in the river.
Once, where the trail leaves the river
ascending to the left, a grandfather pine
has fallen between two elders growing together,
spitting their trunks, breaking in two
against the two, a perfectly
balanced confrontation. In return
for the river’s protection. The contribution.
A breaking before your very eyes.
Every step as tributary. Look at flow.
Kneel-down knee-soaked knees.
Look at the water moving to the side
in among fallen leaves, the slow swirling.
Walk as far as your feet will take you.
With you, contigo, contributing
to your bowing practice. You spring.
Take in what you can. You tributary.
Trust this restoration and when you doubt
the euphoria of this, hiking here,
smaller into larger, following,
look at the 100 photographs on your camera.
These pictures of November light a responsibility.
Not a response, all that is awe and before you.
The light is raw data, empirical.
Light as breath, your breath in the water.
Jim Bodeen
2 November 2023
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