We both step and do not step in the same rivers.
We are and are not.
Somehow, this elegant Zen- and Yoda-like (but actually Ancient Greek) quote has morphed into this: You can’t step into the same river twice. That, at least, is how I learned it, back in the early 14th century.
The river changes; so do we.
But as I head down into Queen Creek Wash in Gilbert — a favourite walk from previous trips to Phoenix — I find that I don’t much care whether it’s the same river. It’s a wonderful river, albeit one without water at the moment.
There are small flitty birds that I can’t identify, but that Merlin can, even from a fuzzy photo. Good job, buddy!
There are Gambel’s quails and desert cottontails.
There are interesting juxtapositions of leaves and branches, branches and leaves.
And just to prove Heraclitus’ point for him, for the first time I take a serendipitous photo with a road runner and a ground squirrel — serendipitous because, squinting into the sun, I could just barely locate the road runner. I didn’t even see the ground squirrel until I looked at my photos on my laptop.
The calm proximity of road runner and ground squirrel suggests that neither is on the other’s lunch menu.