The Spaces Between Your Fingers

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Received via snail mail.  Hannah writes,

When I was twelve or thirteen, my dad and I put our green canoe into the Wind River outside Thermopolis, WY and told my mom, brother, and grandpa to pick us up at the bridge in town in one hour.

We slid into the water and sliced through the rolling rapids with ease.  Seconds passed.  Paddle, paddle.  Minutes passed.  Paddle, paddle.  The moon rose, and God scribbled black over the sky, the canyon walls, the river bank, the water, the front of our canoe.

"Hannah," my dad called behind me.

"Yes?" I called back, straining to see his face and the flash of his paddle in the moonlight.

"Your ears have to be your eyes now.  Listen for the rocks and tell me where to go."

Hours passed.  My mom, grandpa, and brother paced the bridge in town, ropes and flashlights in hand, waiting for our bodies to roll over the rapids to their final resting place.

But me and my dad...we weren't afraid.  Every splash of water, every breath we drew together.  We became one.  

Listen, paddle, listen, breathe.   

The Simple, Joyful Moment That I Measure Other Moments By

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Received via snail mail. Hannah writes, "I am 30 now and have had many moments of joy, but only recently have these moments 'measured up.' You see, I am in love. And tonight, when Justin hugged me, and said he loves me, we walked around the corner of my apartment, I saw the moon. And I breathed the cool Wyoming air. And I was in the river on a canoe late at night all over again."

Decade: 1980s
Rating: 0
Recorded by Matthew Ross Smith on October 18, 2013
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