"A River of Thoughts" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
Although September began with mornings cooler than expected, it has now found its rhythm: nights touched with crisp air, followed by days that unfold in sunlit mildness. Already this morning, as I sip from my mug of coffee, I see golden rays spilling gently across the trees. Leaves still green seem even greener in this light, while those that have already turned red and gold shimmer with richer hues. September sunlight is softer than the brilliance of midsummer; it carries a mellow glow, a golden sheen that seems to invite reflection.
Here in this part of the northwoods, we are fortunate to live near the St. Croix River. One of my favorite places to pause, to simply be, is Osceola Landing. The photo before me was taken there, at a bend where water and sky conspire to create beauty in every season. The still water reflects the trees like a mirror, doubling the abundance of autumn color. A single green leaf in the foreground reminds me of how the present moment always holds a vivid, living pulse.
This river has seen much more than I ever will. Archaeologists tell us that people lived along its banks thousands of years ago—ancient Woodland cultures and even earlier Archaic peoples, including the Old Copper Culture. These were some of the first in the world to shape tools, ornaments, and weapons from native copper mined around Lake Superior. Imagine: long before cities, long before written history, these waters carried trade and stories. The St. Croix became a corridor, a pathway for survival and community, its currents carrying not only goods but culture and memory.
Centuries later, in 1844, Osceola became a river town, thriving as logging boomed and steamboats plied the river’s breadth. This very landing where I now sit on a bench, once saw logs floating by the thousands, men working, boats arriving and departing. Today, the sounds are gentler: paddles dipping in the water, children laughing along the shoreline, travelers finishing a canoe trip begun upriver. It is a place of history, of continuity, of change.
And here I sit, in the blink of an eye compared to all that has come before. My existence is brief, yet I am grateful to live in this moment, to witness this river as it glimmers in golden morning light. The river teaches me: what you see now is already downstream, gone. Every instant is unique, never to return. This impermanence, rather than frightening, brings peace. It reminds me that life is made of moments—and that being fully present is a gift beyond measure.
September itself whispers lessons. It is a season of letting go, as trees prepare to shed what no longer serves them. In that quiet release is wisdom for us, too: to set aside burdens, to surrender old worries, to lighten our spirits. In this way, the rhythm of nature becomes a guide, showing us how to embrace renewal.
So this day begins: coffee mug warm in my hands, golden light soft across the trees, gratitude filling my soul. I am part of this ancient land, this vast universe, this unfolding present. And in that awareness, I find peace.
“To sit quietly and listen to the river is to hear the song of eternity.” ~Anonymous
~Wylddane
Here in this part of the northwoods, we are fortunate to live near the St. Croix River. One of my favorite places to pause, to simply be, is Osceola Landing. The photo before me was taken there, at a bend where water and sky conspire to create beauty in every season. The still water reflects the trees like a mirror, doubling the abundance of autumn color. A single green leaf in the foreground reminds me of how the present moment always holds a vivid, living pulse.
This river has seen much more than I ever will. Archaeologists tell us that people lived along its banks thousands of years ago—ancient Woodland cultures and even earlier Archaic peoples, including the Old Copper Culture. These were some of the first in the world to shape tools, ornaments, and weapons from native copper mined around Lake Superior. Imagine: long before cities, long before written history, these waters carried trade and stories. The St. Croix became a corridor, a pathway for survival and community, its currents carrying not only goods but culture and memory.
Centuries later, in 1844, Osceola became a river town, thriving as logging boomed and steamboats plied the river’s breadth. This very landing where I now sit on a bench, once saw logs floating by the thousands, men working, boats arriving and departing. Today, the sounds are gentler: paddles dipping in the water, children laughing along the shoreline, travelers finishing a canoe trip begun upriver. It is a place of history, of continuity, of change.
And here I sit, in the blink of an eye compared to all that has come before. My existence is brief, yet I am grateful to live in this moment, to witness this river as it glimmers in golden morning light. The river teaches me: what you see now is already downstream, gone. Every instant is unique, never to return. This impermanence, rather than frightening, brings peace. It reminds me that life is made of moments—and that being fully present is a gift beyond measure.
September itself whispers lessons. It is a season of letting go, as trees prepare to shed what no longer serves them. In that quiet release is wisdom for us, too: to set aside burdens, to surrender old worries, to lighten our spirits. In this way, the rhythm of nature becomes a guide, showing us how to embrace renewal.
So this day begins: coffee mug warm in my hands, golden light soft across the trees, gratitude filling my soul. I am part of this ancient land, this vast universe, this unfolding present. And in that awareness, I find peace.
“To sit quietly and listen to the river is to hear the song of eternity.” ~Anonymous
~Wylddane
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