Little River

Little River In the heart of America, there is a stream. It began with a single drop, followed by others; one after another... methodically, not randomly, high in the mountains. It is a miracle at it's very roots. The river of our hearts... Few know the existence of the place, but all know the reality of the torrent. The raging, erratically-mad notion; that freedom can be held back? That it can be dammed up...? Surely not by those that choose to be, part of the current itself. Even still... Once felt by the fish that swim in the water... even they too will not be able to resist, their love of the water... the essence of God. All those that know him... all those that ask... will never know, thirst, again!