I sit surrounded by trees and the calling of birds and somewhere off to my left, the angry chatter of a squirrel. The silence allows me to hear myself, even though in the distance I hear others talking on the trail and the muffled sounds of vehicles crossing the bridge upstream.
The fog is lifting. Soon, the diverse colors of fall foliage will bathe themselves in unfiltered sunlight. A soft breeze blows through the clearing where I sit. Some of the leaves release themselves from the trees that burst them into being to continue their journey downstream.
They float on water trails flowing towards the sea. Rivers which mark the historic highways carrying with them their ancient native names. Oconee, Ocmulgee, and Altamaha. These rivers were the lifeblood of those who came before, and still they roll, tying together communities, cities, and civilizations.
Long may these rivers flow. Long may they remind us that even when we are alone, we walk the same trails of generations who have gone before us. Let us remember, and always keep moving forward.