I usually go to the Chattahoochee River to hear the drumbeat of my soul in the silence of a stand of woods that lines its shore or the rhythmic flow of eternity between its riverbeds. In the past, I have gone to the Hand of God Tree and the Thinking Rock, but now I can’t because there are too many people too close; too few masks; too many dangers; too little comfort in the risks.
But the pull and ache of missing it got too strong, so I went to the river and found a place all to myself, isolated in a way that I would have considered a danger before as a woman alone.
But now when dangers surround us, what is danger? What is safety? What are our options anymore?