Good Thing It's Not
On Sunday, Kathleen and I walked down to the river. I wanted to try my hands, now considerably less shaky, at photography. The results were mixed, but I liked this picture of the river, which, as you can plainly see, is not a river, but a swatch of turbulent water churned by ever-shifting tides. I am very fond of rivers; I like their inexorability. The water keeps coming from one direction and running off in another. “Time, like a never-ending stream,” as the hymn has it. But if the East River were a river, time’s sons would still be floating back and forth perpetually.