Eventually, all things merge into one

Annie's thoughtful Thursday, week 10.

and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters." (Norman Maclean~A River Runs Through It)

I am surrounded by water, never far from a lake, river, creek, pond, waterfall-not cut by the great flood-but rather left over from the great ice age. Finger lakes are connected to the great lake by flowing water. Water falls from the sky, and for half the year or so, piles up around us blocking our way and hiding most of the color.

The ice flowed slowly and powerfully, forming the land high and low and finally melting and gathering into the low spots. It still flows, only now it's liquid most of the time.

The great ice left more than water behind, the land was churned up into gorges, waterfalls, ridges, bluffs, and  (my favorite) drumlins. And the rocks. The rocks on the south eastern shore of Lake Ontario. They are round and smooth and beautiful. Cut by the great ice and tumbled by the resulting water.

Some of these rocks are piled up inside and outside my house. It's impossible to resist collecting a few from each lake visit. They have been washed by waves, pressed by ice, and drenched in rain.

I haven't yet heard the words under them, neither the words that belong to the rocks nor the words that aren't theirs. Next time I will visit the lake with listening ears.