The River

Down by the river in the woods
Where everybody goes to be alone
Where you won't see any rising sun
Down to the river I will run

An elderly couple named Hank and Clara lived across the street from my family. Clara was like a grandmother to me. They had a cute little dog named Lucky. That dog lived up to his name! I grew up finding him dash across the street to greet me, even when cars were heading his way. I'd take him for walks and I got a treat from sweet Clara each time I returned.

Hank and Clara's children and grandchildren lived in Texas. It was always a treat when they visited our neighbors.  

I became good friends with Natasha, their  youngest granddaughter who was my own age.

Natasha is the girl who introduced me to my favorite place on earth.

I still chuckle to myself. 

I've lived in Plover my entire life.

Tasha, who wasn't even from Wisconsin, knew about this place before I did.

Little Plover River Park has two baseball fields, a tennis court, a playground for children and a shelter.

Across from the park is a deep patch of woods. It has a multiple trails.

One for skiers in the winter, and one for walkers and cyclists.

The key is to take the ski trail.

If you follow it, you'll eventually find yourself a secret

The actual Plover River.

These woods aren't normal.

There's something magical and haunting about them.

They never look the same no matter how many times I re visit.

You'll never know what you'll come across and you're always going to get the feeling someone is following you.

Or watching you.

Some say the woods are haunted.

Others say it's rubbish.  

The ghosts of Christmas past are seen whenever I find the entire community's dead Christmas trees dumped in a pile on the east side.

New carvings and messages appear in the trees every summer.

Once you find the river, you'll never be the same.

I walk to the borders on my own
To fall in the water just like a stone
Chilled to the marrow in my bones
Why do I go here all alone

The trails to the water have seen me at my worst

When I am in tears and on the verge of breaking.

When I have lost all hope.

They've seen the moments I've felt lower than low.

When the world is crushing me to death and I can't stand to breathe anymore.

The trails have also seen me at my best.

When I am on the brink of exploding from happiness. Drunk on joy I fly by the trees on cloud nine.

This entire patch of woods is my home.

My safe haven.

It is my refuge. My place I can breathe and find myself again.

The river is always my destination.

At my spot by the water, the world comes alive. 

While sitting on my tree stump, I have seen beavers and foxes.

Deer and sparrows.

Eagles and cranes.

Spiders and bugs.

A raccoon once stole my bag and I had to fish it out of the water and cut up my leg trying to reach it.

When we were younger, the three musketeers built bridges of wood across the river.

We were lucky if our bridge was still there the next day.

Look at the stones on the riverbed

I can tell from your eyes

you've never been by the riverside

The river holds my tears.

The water current is my soul.

It's rushing is my life.

The rocks are my friends.

I've sworn I have heard doors squeak open and shut in the woods.

It's said someone was once found dead here.

I've found myself trying to make out the whispers I hear, but then I realize it just might be my imagination.

Or perhaps it's the river...

There is just something about it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjncyiuwwXQ

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

I find this very well written and interesting. Forests and streams have always been so dear to me, too, so I really enjoyed being taken to your special place.

[writ rajat]

very much look like a kisel, understandable and much motivating in the facts that your story look quite true as it is really haunted