The river stretches and winds and calls my feet to walk beside it. Small and twisting, roaring and mighty, I have never found one that I can ignore. Their blind duty to reach the sea calls my soul in its restless searching and stands me on my feet again and again, touches the place that is never tired, even when my body is weary. I picture the rivers I have loved in my mind and the ones of legends. They care not for me and they give me their love, blindly and without hesitation. This is what I am thankful for. Their gift is one no lover or teacher can give yet all lovers and teachers are there. I hear them all in the silent sweep of the mighty flow. The poets and songs of my life are there too; I feel them. So too are all the dirty things of the world, carried with the same love and compassion as the tiny fry that are spawned in those waters, each with a dream of its own. Yes, I have known rivers great and small and though they don’t know my eyes have fallen on them they bear me on without complaint or resentment, in spite of my brightness or darkness. And they stand me up when I have fallen, another soul taken lovingly into the flow toward the sea.