Unto a River

Some say life is a road, a drive, with bumps along the way and endless turns. Much as I try, the best image I can contrive is, instead, of a river that boils and churns. At times it's a gentle creek, bubbling along; smoothly you float in it, forgotten by misery. Then come slight changes in the river's serene song, eddies in the stream - of happiness barely rescissory. These eddies change little but the feel, the touch and taste of the water below; of this boat on this river you try to take the wheel, but you can only ride and watch, never control the flow. On occasion it floods, overflowing its banks - sending you down the current, tossing you over the side. This is when you find it tough to give thanks, toilsome not to surrender to hardship, to the crushing tide. It will not hesitate to drag you under, drown you and smother you if you are unwary. Yet, it is not all fire and brimstone, lightning and thunder - its rampages accidental, it doesn't mean to harry. Sometimes a partner joins you in the drift, and together of bliss you both hold a sliver. Life will give all, and throw all into the rift; 'tis the springs and the falls - forever unto a river.