The River
Some thoughts from a retreat.
The duck skids upon the river to end its flight.
Flowing, flowing; never standing still.
An old and forgotten friend,
the spoonbill, white and angel-like,
drops by unexpectedly
to greet and to encourage.
By the river the tree puts its roots
deep into the earth;
but what if the tree needed to be transplanted?
The river widens,
its water slows, but never stops.
My spoonbill friend returns,
extends its neck and looks around.
The clouds part momentarily,
releasing the sun.
The ancient roots are exposed, eroded.
One day they will fail
and the tree will be swallowed up.
I am distracted. When I look up
my spoonbill is gone.
He will return one day.
An island intrudes;
the river divides and flows around it
and unites again at the other side.
The river’s mouth is a thousand kilometres away
but still the ocean is getting closer.
One day I will reach it.
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