On the way to the River

The clerk at the convenience store was less than friendly and certainly not interested in small talk. His cell phone was laying on the counter, an Instagram Reel looping. I think I interrupted his scrolling session by buying a cup of coffee. On the way to the river, I was tailgated by a mid-size silver SUV - there seem to be thousands of them on the roads these days. The driver, obviously in a hurry, was doing her best to attempt to pass me. I could see the displeasure in her face in my rear view mirror, frustrated in the glow from the phone that she held in her right hand reflecting off of her eye glasses. Further down the road past the Pungo light, a red sedan sat parked on the side of the pavement. It was not really parked, more like stuck in the soft mud on the far side of the ditch, the front end of the vehicle just in the soybeans. I imagined the driver fell asleep or was distracted, perhaps by the same reel the clerk was watching.  But I was in no hurry. Sunrise was still a half hour away. I had my coffee, the latest international news played on the radio, and I was headed to my escape place - the North Landing River.

The water was high that day. The winds were blowing from the south, pushing water up from the Albemarle Sound, allowing me to maneuver my boat further up the small creeks that feed the river. With the outboard motor off and the frogs giving way to the cicadas, I wondered how long it would take for that one strand of Spanish moss to grow long enough to reach that cypress knee.

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