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The River Diaries

Friday, October 13, 2000, sunny with some warmth promised

This morning Perry and I made our way down to the river. He ran and rolled and then loped back to me in his disjointed way to make sure I was still there—his biscuit dispenser, I think. My ability to walk has changed, and I am trying to learn from it. Today we were all alone on our river path. Out on the river just one lone sailboat, its big white sail catching the morning fall wind; as it passed us, I noticed it was a catamaran, a perfect blend of flight and balance. Down towards the bridge we walked, where the river bends, with its wonderful promise of wild lands ahead, and then back towards the city, shining in the sunlight. For one moment all I saw was glowing with life, with movement, with the new day.

But not a new day in Israel or in Palestine. There history wears a death mask. No moment of beauty exists beyond the reach of the horror we perpetrate on each other.


© 2000 Joan Nestle

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