This Life Flows Like a River

Digital StillCamera

So this, it flows like time, like the river toward the sea. It begins here, with a moment, growing as it moves down towards its end.

Our story is a river that turns and twists as it flows. We both started high in these hills of possibilities where the wind, rain and snows erode a place of beginning for both of us.

At first, we trickled down the slopes of childhood as the spring melted our snows. We grew into our own rivers of life, each far away from each other on mountainsides of our own.

We met, our tributaries merging, our solitary streams becoming this river while still high in those mountains of youth.

We grew and twisted together over those turbulent years as we rode over rapids and tumbled over waterfalls. We roared through narrow canyons as our youthful vigour threatened to burst our banks and send us flooding out, destroying the bridges that held our opposing banks tied together.

Later, as our torrents slowed, we came to the low valleys where our river widened and deepened. We learnt to flow slowly, take our time and not rush headlong for the sea. We became part of the landscape and the landscape channelled us, no longer switching back and forth, no longer desperate to carve out a channel of our own. We learnt to flow where the shape of the land allowed us.

We had time to dawdle, almost still, as this river flowed on. A chance to see, feel and learn of this land around us and we could see much further now the steep mountain valleys no longer constrained us in our raging. We grew older, calmer, and even wiser as our banks held us close together.

Now we taste the salt of the eternal sea on our lips and know that final estuary is not far away. Our banks that held us have fallen now and we feel the sea breezes and catch the cries of seabird on the air. We know soon that we will slip away from this river and become another small part of that eternal sea, becoming only a memory to those who walked our banks and watched us flow.

Even so, though as we merge into that forgetting sea we know that somewhere up in those far high mountains another spring will come. It will melt that snow and another river will begin to flow.


Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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