Yesterday I promised photos, promised that I consider the River Tweed a river worth knowing, one that is a favorite memory of last year's trip to England.
Late at night my sister and I hurriedly crossed from the train station to our Bed and Breakfast, right across the road. We chatted with the proprietor and eagerly wondered if we would have time in the morning before breakfast to walk out and see the North Sea. On our way up to Edinburgh we had seen tantalizing glimpses of sun washed water, and we just wanted a glimpse of those shores. We left early the next morning, somewhat unsure of the directions but found the stairway that wound down between untended flower beds, down to the River Tweed, and out into wonder. We walked along the trail and up on the old city walls, the river shimmering beside us. We found the estuary and beyond...the sea. We deemed it worthy of an entire quiet day, to play and picnic by the sea. A day to walk the trail along the green cliffs to the south. A day for discovering a town not in the tourist books. But we had only an hour. One hour then away. Away on the train over Victoria and Albert's bridge that spans the river, away through industrial cities and to London. Away to Heathrow and O'Hare. One hour of wonder that was more than either of us expected. One hour on the River Tweed, my sister beside me, our footsteps marking the minutes. God has made a great and glorious world, His glory shining round every corner. When I poke my head around a corner and the glory catches me unaware, my heart aches at beauty and leaves me breathless as I whisper thanks.
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