A river is a mountain of energy. Its
appetite to reach the ocean. The river is a highway
pulling with it silt, leaves and parts of trees.
On occasion the river reaches out. It’s watery
fingers possessing what it wants. Quietly it moves,
pushing over and carrying away the life and love
of everything in its path.
Valleys yield and shorelines respect the passage
of its strength. Bridges rise up with supports
planted deep against the turbulence of spring.
Vortices, rapids and half submerged objects
cast their warnings of beware to all who pass near.
Roger Singer 