The source of the Meuse River, I’m looking at it right now. What did I expect? A vertical jet of water, a fountain from the ground. I had imagined a geyser, something with lots of spray. And failing that (I’d already tempered my expectations), perhaps such a source could be a bubbling puddle; a blob of water turning into a downslope stream.
Reality then. In real life, the source of the Meuse takes the shape of a construction of old stones and a tiny gutter. Water trickles through. Weakly it trickles, like the stream from a leaking sink faucet.
A little further on, two old men hunch over a crossword puzzle at a folding table.
A sunbeam forces its way through the wet gray of the clouds. Clouds, perhaps wetter than the Meuse curling along my feet. The colors of the stones, the grass, the road beside the source, the moss on the stones—they appear saturated in the late light of day.
Every day in November someone waits nearby—not the French, but the Maastricht Meuse. This in the spirit of Maaswacht, a collaboration between TAAT, SoAP, and the Meuse. The meusewatchers stay in a meusewatcher house and relate themselves to water, land and time. Want to watch the river with us? Sign up at maaswacht@gmail.com.