River

The air at the edge of the river was frigid and still, with only the occasional breeze to disrupt the silence, shaking the dry leaves that still somehow clung to tree branches. All was quiet. I could hear the flow of great pieces of ice in the river crack as they moved, very slowly, and melted in the morning sun.

Perched precariously on a fallen tree or piece of driftwood to take this photo, I would hear the ice seem to fracture all around me. I held still, thinking I were somehow responsible. But I began to realize that it was only the tidal flow of the river beneath the ice.