Eventually, all things merge into one, 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.
Took to the back roads of Tennessee the other morning and found myself caught in a massive fog bank rolling in from Norris Lake down into the river below. It was probably in the teens as far as temperature goes and I couldn’t feel my finger clicking the camera shutter by the end, but my God was it worth it.