A flowing river has no home, only a birthing where small rivulets emerge from the ground then join with others on a slow journey to an end where the river waters inevitably combine with all the waters of the world.
In between, along its journey, it flows and searches, seeking a place to rest.
There, under the willow whose branches and leaves trail their fingers on its surface as a lover’s gentle touch on the skin of the beloved, birds sing a welcome to the river. “Stop! Rest! Here is the place your searching ends. Here you will find peace.”
Solemn-eyed deer gaze at the slow passage of water’s time, while kingfishers flit from side to side as their “chit-chit-chit” echoes through the air. By sundown, as the river is tucked into its bed by a blanket of fog, green frog and brown cicada add their voices to the night’s symphony which continues unabated until the new dawn arises. Daylight silences night’s voices, making way for morning’s wake-up call of robin, blackbird, and wren. Overhead a blue-gray heron lifts through the mist into the sky.
Under warmth of sun by day and guidance of constellations at night, the constancy of the heavens lends a peace, a fullness to the river’s quest. Still, the river flows.
Oft times children come laughing and playing to accompany the river on its journey. Stones skip like laughter across the water’s surface while Pooh Sticks race under bridges. Encouraged by the excitement of children’s voices, leaf boats launch with anticipation then come to rest at water’s edge, lost in the tangle of overhanging vines. New leaf-battalions are launched to take their place; the river continues.
For a time, gentle ripples and bubbling cascades are the river’s answering conversation of joy to the children. Elusive rainbows fill the air as sunlight dapples on the surface and the children squeal with awe. Inevitably, exhausted by innocent wonder, the children pull themselves from river’s edge and depart for home, satisfied with the day, happy to be home.
But the river has no home and flows on.