Even deep inside the concrete canyon, life abounds. Islands grow from the forbidding floor. The river has laid down stepping-stones to some. On one of these miniature wildernesses, it is possible to imagine that the canyon does not exist. Whips of green willow branches drape down to the water s edge, so thick that they enclose the tiny clearing within.
Fluffy seeds float through the air.
A nest lined with down lies hidden deep in the brush. Ducks paddle nearby, patrolling the shore. A sharp smell of decay comes from the black muck, the decay that will bring forth more life. The Los Angeles River never stops flowing, never stops recreating itself. It is ours to discover in all its incarnations.