The River

I.

Atop the hill,

the water begins to fall.

Trickling at first,

pushed down by forces unseen,

the small rivulet

gains momentum.

It is nothing yet—

            no force of nature,

just beauty in motion

as it seeps gracefully

through a junkyard

of semi-smoothed rocks.

No path to follow,

no trail to hold—

            freedom, as it runs its course.

II.

Days have passed.

The path is cut deeply

within the dirt.

A small stream now,

carrying pieces of the mountain

to a new home down below.

It whispers softly

as it moves swiftly by,

downward and onward.

The rocks carried down

tumble and fracture

before coming to rest

behind a small branch,

forever changing the way

things will flow.

This change is everything.

III.

The valley below

grows deeper each day

as billions of raindrops

gather and pool,

stronger together

than they ever could’ve been

alone.

Their strength in numbers

makes the rocks below tremble,

all they need is time

to create what should be,

what could’ve been

all along.

IV.

The forceful flood

flows fast and free.

Finesse forgotten,

freefall follows.

Frequent footfalls

fill the forest.

I have arrived.