River

It is still flowing fast and high, but has come down a lot since last week's torrential rains. North of Dawes, the tips of the biggest rocks breach the surface and the water churns white as it speeds through the narrow channels between. Sun glints off the surface in the distance. Beneath me, it penetrates into greenish depths of rocks and mud. Cars pass behind me at intervals short enough to suppress the rush of river sound, but the only garbage visible is a red bicycle frame on the east bank next to the bridge support. I inspect the break between the bridge rail and the adjacent fence. It's large enough for a person to slip through—I consider going down, but the bank is just too steep.