You chase money and little things start to go wrong: you need a new pair of glasses and a trip to the dentist, two lawns need to be mowed, invoices written, favorite books ignored, rush hour. You run away to Nature's bosom, bawling and boiling, trying to find calm as time is spent from your tiny accounts; a lifetime, metered, turns tight as a noose. But the river and the thunderclouds and the herons with hungry chicks demanding fish populate a canvas you can walk into, and into this particular scene at Great Falls I wander without reception on the bloody cellphone. No email, no text, no ringtones. The birds squabble and cartwheel, the clouds hiss but hold their spit until dark, and the swollen river bats about the kayakers trying to find its smooth spots; and you sit on the rock between photographs, sprayed by the rush of water to the Sea and flecked by your own sweat, just humming with the promise of "always" that Nature sprouts with such cavalier indifference. No, the Universe has its ending, too, and doom looms over the petals and pheromones, but who cares in this moment, on the river, sweaty and sprayed? Not me, and my friends with me are grinning between their shots. It's lovely to be alive, and I forget forever and massage the moments, always passing, always pleasing if I can only take the time to notice.