And I followed you, Big River, when you called

They all got out of here any way they could
The cold rain can give you the shivers
They went down the Ohio, the Cumberland, the Tennessee
All the rest of them rebel rivers

-- "Floater (Too Much to Ask)," Bob Dylan

Now, I taught the weeping willow how to cry
And I showed the clouds how to cover up a clear blue sky
And the tears that I cried for that woman are gonna flood you, Big River
Then I'm gonna sit right here until I die

I met her accidentally in St.Paul, Minnesota
And it tore me up every time I heard her drawl, southern drawl
Then I heard my dream was back downstream, cavorting in Davenport
And I followed you, Big River, when you called

-- "Big River," Johnny Cash

Wednesday morning. Coffee and writing and river songs -- Dylan's "Floater" and "High Water," Johnny Cash's "Big River." I love how Johnny met her "accidentally," and how he rhymes "cavorting" with "Davenport."

The picture is from the Mississippi River Greenbelt Park, in Memphis, on a recent Saturday afternoon. The river was high and seemed in a bit of a mood. I love the big river -- and I love the Ohio, the river where I grew up; hell, I love all of them rebel rivers -- but I give it wide berth. I don't mess with the big river, just keep my distance, take my pictures, type my words. My offerings to the thing, I reckon.

A strong brown god – some old blues man called it that. Memphis Slim or Helena Pete or St. Louis Tom, I don't recall.