One morning this week,  the rest of the world was choking on exhaust fumes and spilling coffee in their laps as they sped along the beltway on their way to work.

But on the river,it was quiet.  The sun had just peaked over the tree line, casting a golden, twinkling light on the surface of the water.  Looking at the sparkling too long made my eyes tear, almost as if the beauty was making me cry.

There was the barest breath of wind,and no boat traffic at that hour.  In the canal of the river, there were no waves, just the current softly lapping at the shore.

Along that shore, a blue heron stood at attention, still as a statue waiting for his breakfast to swim by…and when it did the heron plucked it from the water, worked it down its long gullet…then once again stood silent, straight and still.  Awaiting the next course.

As we accelerated and got on plane, I looked across the span, and saw that we were the only boat riding the river that morning. No fisherman, no crabbers, no weekday pleasure seekers.  The river belonged to us.

As we smoothly road along, I watched the color of the water seem to change, through sun, through shadow, and back again.  I watched seagulls swoop and dance, flitting here and there during what could have been their morning play.

The breeze from the ride through my hair, the sun on my face, and the river in all of it glory. It was peaceful and beautiful. .. more than my attempt to describe it can justify.