Rivers move like the mind, sometimes thrashing, sometimes still. Geese and ducks drift across the surface like pieces of thought, kicking and fluttering. Reeds grow deep and murky at the bottom, stuck in mud, reaching upward. Rocks roll, ripples reverberate. The wind kisses the river’s skin and strokes a hand along its length.
Rivers move like the mind — I like to stand beside them, watch them changing, watch them flow. I like to kneel and listen, hear them whisper, let us go.
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