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Show 227 Sitting by the warmth of the fires, I look up at the mountain on the other side of the river. It is glowing red in the setting sun. A pale moon is rising from behind its peak into an ocean of blue sky, deepening into night. There are only a few clouds now and they are moving back, the wind only puffing indignantly now and again, chasing them finally away. Looking down at the river, I notice that the waves are smaller now and they are not wearing their white caps. "I think it's going to be sunny tomorrow," Allen is saying. We all let out a rowdy whoop. "Didn't you believe us when we told you this was a calm river?" Julie is saying and I just shake my head at the past days, wondering what this river would look like, calm. This river is a lot like me, I am thinking. Pushed out of control by things beyond its power. I am wondering how many people have mistaken me, a flat-water river kind of person, for a wild thing. Allen is finally dishing out our dinner. We never knew chili could taste so good. It is a homemade recipe, a Dutch oven masterpiece. We are complimenting the cooks and supposing how a sunny day on the river will look, dreaming of splashing each other with the paddles, in fun, on our final day instead of being constantly spit at by a cold and angry river. "I want you to know," Allen is saying, and we all quiet, "that I have taken lots of people on lots of trips." He does outdoor wilderness recreation for people with disabilities and their families. His voice is softening and we are all listening intently. "But this trip has really meant a lot to me." He is looking into the eyes of each of my children, then back to Hy and me. "This has been |