Heraclitus’ “ever-newer waters flow on those who step into the same rivers” has been on my mind while visiting the Assabet River since moving here in early 2025. My visits vary in location, season, time-of-day, and weather. I have been literally stepping into the river.
‘Traduttore, traditore’ -- how far has that phrase travelled to reach the form I recall? Not only are there disagreements about the translation of the Greek, there are disagreements about the original content. Heraclitus was preserved only in remembered fragments. One fragment seems to be talking about the ever-changing river. Another seems to be talking about the ever-changing person stepping into it.
As I slog through the mud, ice, and sinewy brambles, I consider that nothing stands still: not the river, not me, and not the text. Yet, here I am, freezing time on the freezing river, catching the plants at one instant in their journey from summer to winter, and myself in one spot in the mud.