Over The River And Through The Woods, pt. 1

We crossed the Mississippi and into the state of the same name sometime after 10, but it felt much later. We were excited to start on the Natchez Trace and the sun had long been up, bidding us make haste. As we rode the long bridge uphill out of Louisiana, I looked down past steel beams at the mighty river, "The Father Of Waters." It was the color of milk chocolate, churning and rushing quick but quite quietly past the concrete abutments that carved the clay-water creating a reverse wake, and noiselessly whispering stories --of not just the dawn and days of American glory, and tragedy, and hand-dug dirty life, and death, oh no. This river whispers stories from the dark corners of time, stories of the origin of all, and of itself.

As the pavement turned around on itself and we crossed the first parkway bridge, we immediately found another world. A verdant bank spread deep to each side of our open empty road, and the forest and birdsounds and the harmless perfection of it all was as inviting and innocent as a church picnic. We smiled, and rode eagerly into the slowly unfolding spring woods...

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