All the rivers flow into the sea, Yet the sea is not full. To the place where the rivers flow, There they flow again. – Ecclesiastes 1:7 The flowing water hits rock, pauses momentarily, force hitting force, but does not stop. The creek increases its strength piling up, splitting, spilling past the obstacle, never turning back. I stand staring at the water below, looking down over the old bridge. This is the same creek I played in as a child, but the current has carved the banks, pushing soil against tree roots, shifting the path. Is this my creek, my bridge? All rivers flow into the sea, yet the sea is not full.
Author’s Note: What does this poem say to you? I wrote it a few years ago and was reminded of it this week. Time to reread Ecclesiastes. And walk in nature.
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"The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice." Yet despair grips me now!
Ah, thank you for the respite.