| It was a bright and glorious day in the river country. You would as soon see a frown, as you would spot a cloud against the great blue ocean of a sky. Laughter, it seemed, flowed with the wind, and nothing could contain the wind. It flowed through the trees by the river, into the charming huts propped on their stilts that dotted the countryside, and graced the long grass of the green meadows sprinkled throughout the river country. It turned the great sails in the sky of the windmills and blew the golden leaves from the trees in autumn. The wind seemed to be always encouraging the canoes along, even if the river was not. Wind, like laughter, was life here, and Shigo loved it. The sun has always shown bright in the river country. The canopies of green along the rivers paint an intricate tapestry of light and shadows on the earth, with the warm breeze changing the mural when it sees fit. Shigo would gaze at it for hours for it always was changing, and change was not common here. Every spring, the rivers breathe in an extra lungful of water from the melting snow of the Rising Mountains in the distant northeast, the signal for the vines to start their annual race up the four log legs to each hut, and the herald of the seasonal birds, the budding branches of the trees, and sprouting flowers in Miss Floria’s well-tended garden. Summer then unfolds with the sunny blossoms and the smile on Miss Floria’s lips as the river country comes into its grand bloom. Miss Floria will only pause from her gardening to chase away the cheerful children as they fly by on fairy feet to the rope-swing, reminiscently hung by the elders on the branches of the willing Old Oak. For he had smiled upon every generation of the river folk as they each took their turns to try to fly like the birds above, only to be blissfully received into the mouth of the warm, slow moving waters of the Fenopy River. When the sun departs on a clear summer night, the river folk climb up into their huts amongst the tree-tops. There they gaze in wonder at the celestial sky of the river country. In the carefree conversation amongst the cicada’s cadence can be heard everything from the philosophies of all in the nation to a lighthearted remembrance of each one’s follies followed by the soft chuckles of the heart. For though they held their tepid grudges amongst themselves, life was simple, and they were content with each other. There is not a one of them who would not lay down with the others on their back to count all the stars, if only to be interrupted by the snore of a companion who had looked a bit too far into the great window of the world. Their life was grand in its simplicity, but nothing compared to the grandiose labors of the world unbeknownst to them. The great ladle in the sky would slowly turn each year until it spilled its contents on the world below. The trees felt the change, and sent to their leaves the hue of heartwood, whether it be a profound crimson, the old gold of the oaks, or the fuchsia of kings. Autumn is harvest time, the time the land gives back the labors of the year, and so life is celebrated with a profusion of food under a kingly canopy of color. Each evening the towns would hold their own feasts of food and fellowship. Old Mr. Janickle can be heard each autumn evening upon the stump in the center of Hollowdown around sunset playing his legendary whistle made from the wood of the Great Forest to the north. Everyone had their favorite tune, and he would gladly reproduce each one from memory to much applause and mirth, though often the merry melodies of his whistle would be lost under an over-exuberant chorus from the onlookers. As for himself, Shigo loved the songs of far off places intertwined with the marvelous melodies of old, which would wrap around his mind, and indeed his heart, like the embrace of one he had long loved but never seen. Oft, as the song spun around him, he would wonder to the greatest height of the trees and look out beyond the horizon, where all the heroes of old adventured. All he saw was the river country unravel before him off into the distance. Shigo longed to see beyond the trees and never could his vision soar out above their depths, until one day when in the distant east he fancied he saw rolling hills of deepest green for but a moment, until the trees again reclaimed his view. |
| River Country |