The Deschutes has a smell in the morning that belongs to no particular day.

I know this because I have stood at its edge enough times to understand that the river does not check the calendar. It simply moves. Cool off the water, something green underneath, the faint mineral note of what the current has carried down from the mountains. It was there before I arrived. It will be there after.

Mom is elsewhere today. Something about the city, something about 00, a parade — the energy in the house has a different shape this morning, and Dad is at the desk in the way he gets when a room is quieter than expected.

The water bowl was still filled on schedule. The kibble scoop made its sound.

Some things hold regardless of what the day has decided to be. That is not nothing. That is, in fact, the whole arrangement.

I pressed close to the desk. The morning moved around us.

#pawscarwilde #rivermornings