What Was--Will be Again

I’m sitting on the riverbank near Riversleigh, watching the river as it passes on its journey to the sea. I think about its story—its history and future.

What Was—Will Be Again.

The river is born
high on a mountain
with a seep,
a trickle,
a puddle or two,
then a stream
bubbling gaily
over the rocks.

Youthful and wild,
she plays
and she races,
tossing jewels
into the light
of the sun.
Swiftly,
wearing down boulders
until,
they become pebbles
smooth to the touch.

Wider now,
much slower.
An aging river
with wisdom to share
with that uppity stream
that rushes to join her.
Absorbing her water
until,
the two become one.
A mile wide, maybe two,
moving along
graceful and strong.

Content,
she heads out to sea,
knowing that soon
she will fly with the clouds
until,
she falls as rain on the mountain
and is born yet again,
with a seep,
a trickle,
a puddle or two,
then a stream
bubbling gaily
over the rocks.

Vi
©January 20, 2006