A Day In The River

A day in the river.
The sweet smell of water. 
A Squirrel...
A fly...
A touch...

I am sitting on a rock,
Looking towards where the river flows.
The waters rush to their destination,
As if they were a school kid rushing for the bus.
Or a lawyer on her way to court.
Or a nurse headed to his grave yard shift.

The waters rush, and yet they seem still.
As if they move without movement .
With no effort.
As if they were carried on by the wind,
Or carried by themselves.

And I am sitting on a rock
Looking towards where the river flows
Wondering, Pondering, Thinking:
The water surrenders.
Surrenders into itself,
As it rushes towards its destination.
Where do we go,
When we surrender?
Surrender is often over looked 
We say ‘let go’. We sing it out loud with our princesses.
​But do we ever? Let go. Do we let ourselves be carried by ourselves?
Like water.
​
Like water, effortless in its effort.
Still in its movement.
Calm in its wildness. 
So are we:
A river of contradictions.