with the most necessary, intimate drink of life the river moves.
sometimes wide and gentle caressing the edges of its bed with ease. sometimes fierce in its trusting, reaching into frontier land beyond what it seems to know.
always - flowing where it is able. able as in doable and laughable and hardly even thinkable. able just the same.
the river needs to move.
generous in its offering. splitting and threading away from itself, bestowing life and connection when it finds a place to land, absorbed, released, falling and river yet again.
though the vulnerable heart might be strangled by the most captivating dense, dark and deep love’s spring knows the sleepy pockets, hidden cracks and grateful channels through which it might slip and drip working it’s way to a full cascade.
love moves. who knows how the landscape might change.