The silence before the storm hits the river

It’s 6:15 PM and the air’s so still the water looks like glass. I’ve been sitting on the bank for twenty minutes, watching a single leaf drift downstream, not moving, just waiting. The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel peaceful—more like the world holding its breath. Last week, a client asked if I’d ever felt anything holy in the river. I didn’t answer. But now, with the first distant thunder rolling in, I think maybe it’s not about feeling it. Maybe it’s just showing up, quiet, when the moment arrives.