I went down to Clarksville to have dinner with some family. Before we went to the restaurant, I stopped at the park on the banks of the Ohio River, looking across to downtown Louisville, admiring the beauty of the lights against the night sky, reflecting off of the river. The cold air make everything look sharper, more crystalline, the lights shining like mulit-colored jewels in the night.
In contrast to the beauty of the lights, the river is flooded, the dam at Louisville a mere ripple under the water. There's a deadly beauty to the river when it's like this, the water rushing past silently, ripples and eddys hinting at the power and danger of the current. It's easy to be mesmerized by the shifting patterns, the waves formed as the river itself pulses, as if it had a heart beat, so alive, so beautiful, so treacherous. The river calls out, the siren's call, beconing the unwary soul to her watery embrace, and a watery grave. She promises a gentle embrace, a lover's caress, but she is possessive of her lovers. Once she has her choosen love in her embrace, it is unweilding and eternal. As she carries her beloved away into the darkness of her depths, her icy grip becomes warm, fear retreats, and her love embraces her in return.
Grief passes for the one who the river claimed, memory fades. The rains come once again, and the waters begin to rise. And the river sings her siren's song once more.