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The River Flows

The river bursts forth from the depths of an underground womb. At first, it is merely a trickle, reaching, stretching, trying to find its way.

In its youth it is small and powerless. Its moments are spent playfully skipping over pebbles and boulders, unsteady in its course. Its depth is shallow, its movement swift.

The river grows from its beginning. Having little direction or focus, it meanders to and fro, and appears to be lost in its wandering.

As it matures, it deepens and expands in its breadth. Still capable of much volatility, it begins to form boundaries that keep it from spilling out of control and causing destruction.

When the storms come, it rages and swells, going off its course and becoming unrecognizable, but over time it returns to its normal, peaceful serenity.

As the river ages, it deepens and widens and grows calm and begins to slow, no longer resembling the torrent of its youth.

At times quiet and sleepy. At other times roaring and raging. The river continues to flow.

Deep pools in its solitude. Shallow outbursts in its restlessness. The river flows.

As it comes to its end, it is broad, deep, placid.

When it finally reaches the sea, its journey ends. The eternal sea. The river no longer exists. It has become one with the vast ocean. It has a new life, a new existence.

The water springs forth from the depths of the earth. Cold and pure it forms a stream.