The river is freezing. As a child, I loved the music the half frozen river made - water gushing and gurgling under ice, over rocks. On Sunday drives, my father would stop by the banks of the narrow Charles while driving us from Sherborn through Natick or Dover to Dedham so we could feed the ducks. All of us packed in the car with a bag of Wonder bread crusts saved by my mother. Unmittening our hands, we tore soft slices to bite sized bits and flung them toward the gang of mallards quacking toward us.

He was tone deaf and didn't sing in the shower or anywhere but the car and only if he was driving. He sang and taught us to sing the same simple songs, over and over, he loved from his childhood, mostly, I've Been Working on the Railroad.

Give me a river of ice, a song my father loved to sing, and a bag of leftover bread - tiny bits of memory to make a spirit hum.

All text and photos copyright Kelly DuMar 2016 unless otherwise attributed