In the river's belly (Patreon)

I have no way to explain the cuddly warmth of this tiny nook. 

Under the edge of rocks above, it broadened out into a rounded little room. 

Tiny, pale ferns sprouted out of each crack. Moss coated the walls. 

The silty dirt underfoot was soft, cool, barely damp. 

The air smelled of change: of decomposing leaves, of tiny growing plants, of rocks warmed by the morning sun cooling. 

And among it all, I felt small, and cuddled, and held, comforted by the river's soft hushing. 

I can imagine what it's like when the river is high, when the water rushes through the cracks in the rocks and turns that room into a whirlpool, wearing the rocks down year by year. 

But in that quiet autumn moment, all I felt was cool, quiet, peace. 

(I wish Emily and I had snapped more pictures here, but we kept getting interrupted by other wanderers that hour)