Go with the Flow

I am flowing water.

I fall from the sky in a fine mist, noticed on the face and hands. I collect into puddles and nurture seedlings. In time I collect into streams that meander through thick brush.

Unknown to me, ancient trees drink of me and say a silent thanks.

More flow and I develop into a river. Confined by the banks of propriety, I am none the less a strong force; to be reckoned with.

Small children play at my banks and are delighted and cherished.

I cross the plains in no particular hurry, knowing that my steady progress is assured.

I reach the precipice. Fear grips me. I draw together and try to shrink from the edge! Then I become the waterfall for a brief moment. Dizzy, spinning, released, joyous. Free, in my glory, fully alive.

Crash, into the pond I go in a blaze of foamy excitement. Collecting myself into pools I rest, then press on with relentless (breathless) unhurried placidness. Perhaps rapids next?

Composed as an exercise at The Wall by Tim Rosborough