This is a Flashback Friday, sort of. This has been a rough week for Boston, and I have been reliving happier memories, as I mentioned in my post about the Marathon bombing. So here’s one more beautiful memory, about a gathering I attended many times.
Every September there’s an event in Cambridge called RiverSing, which takes place all along the banks of the Charles River from afternoon until sundown. It’s magical: a celebration of autumn and apples and nature and community, with giant glowing puppets thrown in.
Folks bring their children and dogs, lay down blankets and set up picnic baskets. It’s usually on one of those days when you first realize that autumn is inevitable; even if the day is sunny, it is crisp and breezy and as darkness falls you become grateful for sweaters and wool scarves. If you get to the Charles early enough, you can watch the singers and tuba players set up their sheet music. Giant puppets line the John W. Weeks Bridge and mingle with the crowds. People dressed like cows carry giant glowing butterflies on sticks. I don’t know why and it doesn’t really matter; watching children’s faces as they see those puppets is joyous and that’s enough for me.
Volunteers go around handing out free lyrics sheets and soon enough the event begins and everyone sings along: Old Man River, This Land Is Your Land, As I Went Down To The River To Pray. The great American songbook, old folk tunes, anything that has to do with rivers. For that’s what we’re celebrating: The Charles River that winds between Cambridge and Boston, that fills up with sailboats and rowers every sunshiney day, that connects our community. This is RiverSing.
As the sun begins to set and the chill of that inevitable autumn comes rolling in off the water, there’s a sense of anticipation. The puppets light up, the river sparkles. The last song of the evening is called The River Hymn, and as the choir teaches us the tune, everyone starts slowly drifting down to the river itself. Something is going to happen.
The River Hymn is chromatic, eerie. It gives me goosebumps every time. Everyone starts singing: quietly at first, then louder. Something glowing floats down the river. As we reach the end of the chorus, there’s a pause… then an unearthly sound floats to us from underneath the footbridge, from the glow. There are two boats with giant lit puppets; one is a sun, the other is a moon. And on each boat is a saxophone player, with their spooky solos amplified and echoing over the Charles. The two saxophones duel in their chromatic harmony. They float closer, then farther. And then we sing the hymn again.
Now I walk in beauty,
Beauty is before me,
Beauty is behind me,
Above me, and below me.
This is my Boston. We all sing together, and strange things float calmly down the river, and it is beautiful.
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