The River I Am

The river rages only feet from my window, only inches from where I sit (while visiting the Mount Pilchuck cabin as I have done so often,  http://www.mountpilchuck.com ).  I am again struck by how the river's journey is the journey of us all.

The drops of water fell ever so innocently from the sky... and in this case, many of them came drifting slowly to the ground as peaceful snowflakes.  By the shear wonders of existence, a drop manages to melt and slide down into a small trickle across the ground, that then meets with a stream, that then merges with the river that rages with force and power.

That tiny drop of water is tossed and churned, slammed into the rocks, separated from those it knew so well and re-merged with others, over and over again.  There are peaceful moments at the surface in the lulls, where the sun warms it, where all runs with liquid fluidity between slow and tranquil banks.  But, just as all seems quiet, a great falls tumbles the droplet from new heights.

More and more and more rivers join course, and eventually, in a collective never suspected before by the small drop, they reach the vast ocean.  There the droplet is in awe and yet suspicion about its validity in such an expanse, one among so many.  And the perils have not ceased, propeller blades, crashing waves, perilous storms. 

And then, when peace among  the vastness, rest, finally sets itself deep within the drop... as it slides along the sunny surface of the great water... ascension!  The drop is evaporated to begin again.

So I am.