The Saugatuck River at the Library

I have always lived at the edge of water. It is a special place. Constantly reminding one of the continuities of movement to and from the horizon, of the cycles of ebb and flow, uncontrolled by man, and man’s fragile perch on the interruption of land. We can only thrust our power to the bank. Here, in this welcoming grassy spot, noisy with the complaints of crows and gulls, man has made the edge safe and comforting. We have made connections to the running surface, rippled and impatient to be some other place. “Look,” it says, “these benches of granite, this walk, paved with the memories of Westporters, these carefully groomed trees reach to my banks and humanize me, frame me with the positive concerns of the human mind – yet unhinder my flow, my reach in time, indeed, my memory of reaching out to the sea, and returning.”