Oh Mothers, Let’s Go Down

3pm. I woke to singing. I peeled the computer paper from my sticky face and wiped the wetness from my chin. Women’s voices rising and falling together. The sound was close.

As I went down to the river to pray,
Studying about that good old way,
And who shall wear the starry crown,
Good Lord, show me the way.

I smiled, which I’m not normally apt to do upon being woken from a deeply satisfying nap–by gospel music. I picked up my paper and pen, sat them on the white wood dresser and slowly opened the door of my room. The sound amplified and I stuck my head into the hallway.

Oh sisters let’s go down,
Let’s go down come on down,
Oh sisters let’s go down,
Down to the river to pray.

I smiled again, goddamn it, and walked the five steps to the lodge’s main hall. Five women from the songwriters’ group sat together, their folding chairs in a semi circle. They sang without accompaniment. I sat down on the step leading into the lecture room and wrapped my gray wool sweater around me.

O mothers let’s go down,
Let’s go down, don’t you want to go down,
Come on mothers let’s go down,
Down in the river to pray.

And of course, no, I didn’t join in. I mean, really? But I appreciated it. And in that sacred space on the mountain, my awkward cynicism evolved into something that still feels like wonder.

It's wicked pretty.