There is something about a river that draws me to it. I yearn to be by the side of a river somewhere, anywhere. To stare into its glittering evanescence, always changing and yet always its same fluid self—gives me a perspective of life in a way that whilst being a part of me is immeasurably beyond my finite self.
To be with a river is for me to commune with the life force that animates us all, with all of life’s beauty and horror, its moments of entitlement and those of matchless surrender. I lose myself in its constant flow, and that’s perhaps why I love to be by a river.
A river gives life, and in itself personifies life. I have seen rivers at their source and at their widest, grandest promenade. Nothing—not the milling crowds, nor the boats, the winds, the rocks, nor the immense silence enveloping the darkest night drowns the sighs of a river touching its shore.
Time slows when I’m with a river. As I listen to the lapping waters and see the swirling lives of generations pass by, I know I’m the one that’s passing—the river is here to stay. If I were to come back, I would find my river after all have passed away. How can someone not love a river?