Meaningless Meanderings

Lovers and Water

Rivers are a true sign of beauty. They flow steadily along, predictably in one direction (or we often hope it does!), carrying their own tiny ecosystem; beautiful in their simplicity. Rivers also can be respected for their surroundings: growing trees, scattered “islands” and simply the way light is reflected off the surface. But this beauty is not limited to the natural rivers. Even the man-made alterations to the Susquehanna (in the form of the “dike”) add an air of aesthetic beauty by granting higher ground for a better view.

And let's not forget the ocean, as that makes a very large portion of our planet. Large, cresting waves, the endless sound of the water rolling to and fro, and the vast space that many consider to be a sign of freedom. Also remember the sand of the beaches, the fierce, passionate storms, and the myriad of blues and greens of the water.

Of course, no matter the body of water, you are bound to find one thing in common: lovers.

On the beaches, you'll see them frolicking in the sand, chasing each other as the waves rise and pass around their ankles, or lying together under and umbrella to protect themselves against the shade. They swim together at the lakes, circling together in an elaborate, floating dance. They play games in the pools with their friends, showing off their beloved as a trophy that they have won. These lovers parade down the walkways of the river, hand in hand, advertising their status.

No matter where I travel, I see this every time: where there is water, there will be lovers.

Here in Lock Haven, I am notorious among my friends for my walks along the river at sunset (or moon-rise, depending on the weather). Every time I undertake this trip, I see the same types of people: the lone joggers, the old lovers and the young flings. I hear voices of the younger groups sitting by the river, their voices carrying as they flirt and jest. I feel the air of concern, of strain, of desperation, as both sides contemplate their next move.

At the lakes and oceans, I see people branching off into pairs, joined together by instinctual attraction or deep seated love. They prove their worth, they play their games. In the end, they huddle together for warmth of for comfort; the answer is something I will never understand. They remain in their bubble, unapproachable, adhering to their own code that seems akin to xenophobia.

Even in other countries, this phenomenon occurs. A river in Kyoto, Japan, is almost legendary for lovers. Each couple will find a seat, and no matter what happens, they will always have almost ten meters (33 feet) from the next couple. When one group sits, those on either side move down until the distance is met. Whether this is something of the Japanese culture, a set rule, or the instinctual desire for space and a “bubble” is another mystery to me, yet it is very intriguing.

Each night I walk along the Susquehanna River, I prove to myself that just as where there is smoke there is fire, where there is water, there are lovers.