It took 29 hours, but it happened, sure as fragrant blue smoke rises from my pine fire to settle out over the Sacandaga River: Levi is bored in nature. Bored by nature. Bored with nature. Bored of nature. How can I tell? He is flopping on granite, working algebraic solutions in the smoothed dirt of our campsite. Yesterday at this time it was all perfect. Today he misses his friends and his cell phone. He chooses Spaghettios over hot dogs on a sharpened stick.
The river below rolls on, grinding boulders into rocks into stones into pebbles into sand, ever "Shushhhing" us in its long journey south. I am content to be "shushhed," even after 29 hours, but I am 48 and my voice has been overused and abused for the last 30 years. I want to be "shushhed," to be soothed and quieted by this maternal spring. But Levis is only 14 and hasn't yet even found his voice.
The river can only do so much in a day...
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