Water. An ancient sound.
A motion, falling, moving,
Colliding, turning. A color with
aroma. Bending in search of a
lower level. Respecting the
language of gravity, yielding to
its pull.
Shorelines hold back aggressive
waters. Mountains remain safe.
Valleys fear the worst.
Rivers build like armies from
the smallest of streams, following
paths to the oceans where they blend
until vaporized into rain, starting
over, once again.
Roger Singer 