And the River Flowed

And the river flowed, as it had for generations.  Seasons came and went, marking the passage of time.  Cycles surrounded the land and patterns of the times adorned the banks.  Nothing stayed the same yet the river flowed.

On the banks, the trees and bushes were full of promise of new life.  Spring added new color and brought with it hope.  Bunches of wild flowers of bright red, purple, white and yellow could be seen almost stealthily in spots where least expected.

And the river flowed, as it had for generations.  Silt and sludge from upstream trudged on and settled in the basin.  The water was a trickle here and there and yet it rushed by in unstable whirlpools in the widened areas.

Summer provided strong and lush vegetation, cover for all critters great and small.  A sense of permanence lulled the unsuspecting visitor into a sense of security.  The muddied waters cleared after rainfall.

And the river flowed, as it had for generations.  Beauty abounds alongside the pests and the slither of things which creep along with venom.  From a distance the river beckons.  Be ever watchful when the banks you approach.

The leaves have fallen.  The branches are bare.  Weeds are evident where blooms were once there.  The sultry sounds of summer have gone.  The damage of life being eroded is on display for all to see when Fall arrives.

And the river flowed, as it has for generations.  Cycles surrounded the land and patterns of the times adorned the banks.  Nothing stayed the same and yet the river flowed.

The drifts of Winter hit with frigidity and purity, blanketing all in a shroud of death.

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