By M. F. Erler
The world is like a river flowing,
Building its own land.
And in the same way,
Changes creep into me, unfelt
Whirling ‘round my feet and head in eddies.
So my soul:
Longs for where I’ve been
Craves where I am going,
But can only be here—in the now.
Why can’t I be like the river?
At its source—trickling from the deep,
dim, in-parts of earth?
At its mouth—wandering slowly, at ease,
before losing itself
in the wholeness of the sea?
–and everywhere in between?
M. Frances Erler, PeaksAndBeyond.com