The River’s Tale

In yon green dale, a river is whispering.

It threads between bank and cliff, grass and gravel, carrying the song of the highlands. Stones crouch to listen. Lichen creep near. Of this does the river tell:

The wingbeat of the butterfly.

The crackling of the wind.

The wisdom of the mountains, deep and true.

To approach is to step at once a thousand miles away, for this water is a messenger from afar. No one knows precisely where it began. But no one doubts its presence. It follows the slope, giving freely of itself as the hillsides cradle and soothe.

We are all awash in place. It takes a river to bring us back to our source.