A gloomy morning on the banks of the canal, soot gray layered clouds like blankets above, a chill breeze, few walkers and runners, a dark hollowed eyed bearded man pulling his bag laden bike up the slope. Not a single water bird on the rocks of the Congaree, only a feeble tweet now and then from the bushes.
Returning, I notice the tree dedicated to Dr. Andrew Bowling with the inscription on a stone:
"For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green, and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit." Jeremiah 17:8
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