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  • The River Road disappears into the murky water. The river - no THE River - has risen. Every once in a while she rises from her well-worn path and flows into the Delta lands. She seeks a new place to be. She wants to deviate from her normal route; the routine is just too much of the same. So, she rises - steadily and slowly. It isn't a surprise. There is plenty of warning, for the most part. Then, she creeps up the embankments, spilling her muddy waters over sandbars, farmland, roads, parks, woodlands, and, yes, towns and homes.

    It is not with malice that she does this. It is simply her way of reminding us that she is still here. Deep, unpredictable, wild, beautiful. Reminding us that she was here before us and she will remain once no one remembers who we were.

    For those of us who grew up near her or had the good fortune to visit her often, she is not just muddy and wide but also majestic, mysterious, and mighty. People return to their hometowns and must make a pilgrimage to her banks. Pay homage to She Who Continues.

    When the world's spinning round, too fast for me, I need a place to dream
    So I come to your banks, I sit in your shade,
    and relive the memories Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn
    Roll on Mississippi, you make me feel like a child again
    Roll on Mississippi, big river roll

    You're the childhood dream that I grew up on
    Roll on Mississippi, carry me home
    Now I can see I've been away too long
    Roll on, Mississippi, roll on.

    "Roll On, Mississippi" recorded by Charley Pride
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