Photo by Stefano Carini

The memories of summers by the river still allow me to breathe more deeply.

I grew up in a house that sat right along this riverbank as it moved through our town. It wasn’t something I thought much about at the time—it was just there. But memory has a way of refining experience.

The river I carry now is fuller, calmer, almost luminous. Each time I return to it in thought, it feels less like a place and more like a reminder: that life, when we slow down enough to notice it, is quietly astonishing.

This photograph brings those moments back—not exactly as they were, but as they’ve learned how to stay with me.

Brent M. Jones

Brent writes with quiet confidence and curiosity, exploring communication, reinvention, and what truly matters. His reflections invite readers to slow down, reconsider their stories, and reconnect with the values that guide them. Through books, essays, and his What Matters Substack Articles and Notes, he offers writing that doesn’t shout—but still speaks clearly.