The Ones Who Came Before


We CALLED IT, “at the end of the water,” for it was the end of our journey and the place where all water brought us before it opened into a larger body.

South of the hemlocks and before the bay we found our home. A bird unknown circled above, drawing a boundary that was to define the place through which we would live. Pulled toward the water, we watched.

Fish, flowing with the water, formed constant ribbons of color that cut through gentle ripples of the river as they quickly passed us by.

Prosperity. We saw the place that was alive before we came. Forest, to rocks, to river. The gentle melting of the land into the valley of the river until it all became fluid.

Endless lives among us, yet one with us. We wanted not to destroy this place with a life before us. At every death, a prayer. At every birth, a celebration. Both land and man entwined.

The end of the water was the end of our peace, but the beginning and, perhaps, the end of those who would live beyond us.

Contributor: Kaitlin Vavoso – BLA