Secret River

I had a dream in which I knew about a secret river.

It was somewhere near my old house in North Carolina. In the dream I was still living in that house. The forest surrounding it was denser in my dream than in reality. It was practically a jungle and the underbrush left no obvious path.

I walked through this forest, walled by greenery, and a canopy of leaves blocked the sky. Some strands of sunlight filtered through the canopy and dappled the forest floor.

I noted that the river had excellent rapids for rafting. In the dream I pulled a kayak from my house, deep into the forest, to an embankment on the river where the rapids started. I then kayaked down the river alone, screaming with joy as the river pushed me through the rapids, rising and falling, occasionally spinning, white foam washing over me.

No one else had ever discovered this river; when I told people about it they didn’t believe me. People were curious why I dragged a kayak through a forest alone, but they let me continue my routine each day, totally undisturbed. I’d return from the rapids and detail the thrill of my ride, but my stories would fall on deaf ears.

Still, I had the river to myself, and I had the stories… and that was all that I needed.

I wish I knew what the dream meant, if it meant anything at all. I woke up trying to figure out what river it was. Was it the Neuse river? That was near my house and also had rapids, but it had been discovered and was regularly occupied by kayakers.

It took a few minutes for me to realize that this river was imagined. Still, I want to believe that it’s out there somewhere. If it is, though, will I keep it a secret?