It seems that there are so many fresh thoughts and ideas coming into my head;
So much new information: News items, results of studies and research…
Yet the things that are solid enough to put on paper – or computer – seem old and stale.
The new things are like trying to catch clouds
Or hold the current of a river still long enough to be examined and described.
Does it always have to be that the newborns of life are soft and pliable?
But then, that is part of their loveliness.
Hopes, dreams, possibilities:
All like children yet to be conceived!
O that I will be able to hold some long enough to write about them!
The river starts in seclusion,
A spring flowing out of the ground.
At first, it is quiet;
The tiny trickle of water
Begins its journey downhill.
As it grows, it gains momentum;
Breaking down rocks, moving debris.
Spilling in waterfalls
Pooling and racing on its way,
Spreading and growing deeper.
It brings life giving nourishment
To creatures and plants of all kinds;
Drinking its refreshment;
Cooled by its beautiful presence;
Living in its broader depths.
The river grows quiet again,
Its current deep and powerful;
Supporting large vessels
On their way
To nearby ports or the ocean,
Where river yields to the sea.