The sprightly stream bubbles on, flowing forth from the crack where it began and into stronger currents yet to come. It grows in strength and speed with each crumbling bank and overly stubborn boulder it passes, roaring and rushing around what it can, but pulling with it a smattering of pebbles and gallons of sand, a collection of undesired souvenirs. A roaring creek then falls complacent, forging its way to calmer places. Then meandering, barely moving, through pastures and fields until it spreads unwittingly to the sea.
Does the river ever forget the brook, the solemn simpleness of its beginning? Or, is it much like it started, a peaceful, blissful reverence?
No comments:
Post a Comment