My first stop on my expedition north was at the Black Rock Nature Preserve, which features sandstone cliffs and, we guessed it, a black rock.
There is not much to do, but I didn’t ask for it, and the steep climb down the cliffs rewards with satisfying views.
The preserve borders at the Wabash, with becomes a few hundred miles further south a tributary to the Ohio.
Unlike time, a river’s past and future are certain. But this certainty has the disadvantage that it nurtures the desire to be elsewhere. If I entrust myself to these waters here, I will be in New Harmony after a while.
What certainty was I given when I was entrusted time?
Certainty and time can both be merciless, each in their own way.
The Inner Frame 