Rivers of Change
The rivers are swollen now with winter’s melted snows. They roar past, sweeping with them the fallen bits of yesterday, making way for what will come.
What will come is hidden, stirring inside seeds like dreams just before waking, in buds that push toward the light, inside the bodies of fishes who curl, sleeping, against smooth rocks even as the rivers of change roar past.
What will come whispers above the river’s roar and rides the currents of light that dance like sky on it swollen waves.
Beneath the oak leaves, green bits of it push up against your boots. Above the treetops, geese in great V’s head north. The hints are everywhere. Something new, something never before seen, is about to be born here. And it will astonish us with its beauty.
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