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sitting curbside

I wanted to be there, on the other side.  Sitting on the camping chair in the spot-light of sun.  But there was three of us and only two kayaks, the math says it all.  I got my friends off on their river adventure and hiked up to the parking lot at the Blue Ridge Reservoir only to find my ‘back-up spot’ was already occupied.  I was one of the few without a fishing pole, but I was happy to see a large group of tourists with enough camera’s to stock the shelves at B&H.  I sat on the rocks in the middle of the beach with my book, chair, camera and a walkie-talkie that only worked part of the time.  I checked in with my kayak buddies and all was good over-n-out.  I took this picture longing to be away from the crowded beach, but soon realized that with the voices bouncing off the rocks,  the European’s beside me would have been louder over there.  If only they’d speak English and I could ease drop like any good writer would.  Alas, I was soon lost in my book when one of my neighbors yelled, a fish jumped out of the water as she pulled her line on shore.  We both watched as it flopped on the rocks, slowing with every breath of oxygen.  People cheered, asked what she used on her line and proceeded to change their bait.

The walkie-talkie crackled — an update from the river, apparently I was missing a Broke Back Mountain moment farther down river as some naked sun-worshipers lay arse up on the river bank, lots of giggling . . . neither of my girlfriends had a camera or phone with them, unfortunate or a blessing you tell me.  I settled in to the rhythm of the  river bank, fishing poles bobbing, people talking, kids splashing in the green water (yes, that is the true color of the water) and the occasional motor boat gliding by, and I realized I was glad to be here, right in the middle of it.  There was a sense of peace and comradory on this river bank– suddenly the the other side looked lonely and well, boring.  The walkie-talkies called me, “Come and get us, over.”  I packed up my chair, said good-bye to my fishing buddies and hiked up the trail.  I guess the grass isn’t always greener . . .

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