October 15, 2012


Friday afternoon, the air was warm and the sun stood brightly through the clear, but fading blue sky. Summer was calling out to spring, promising longer days and the hope of something wonderful, out of the unexpected.

Excited conversations began and plans were made, Saturday would be hotter, and with our winter coats already packed away, those seasoned with the dry air of the west knew - it was time to return to the river.

We grabbed our towels and swimmers, and I packed a few bits of food for the road, as we filled our car with friends, and drove north to Narromine.

The freshness of spring, and the hope of summer, filled us with courage as we plunged through the cold water, assuring ourselves that the longer we stayed in, the warmer the water would feel. We let the current float us down river to Pride Rock. I spell it with capitals, because I knew as I floated beneath it, that this was one of those challenges in life that I couldn't walk away from, it had to be overcome, I had to jump off it.

We stood atop the rock, waiting for our turn or waiting for the courage, or simply just waiting for the moment when we stopped thinking about it enough, to let go and jump. Some have jumped so many times, they think up new ways to leap and increase their thrill, others long to obtain the pride, the reputation of one who has plunged through that water from a new height, their own taste of 'Nazza Pride.'
But, I knew that in me, the person who would come up from that water, was closer to the person I wake up and aim to become each day. Free of fear, with the courage to obtain any dream.
So I jumped.

That afternoon as the sun set, the air didn't cool, it stayed warm as we laughed and made plans for the summer, plans to return to the river.

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