The river prepares to abandon its surface fluidity, its motion, its never-ceasing flow.
It prepares to bed down for the winter in underwater streams. It pulls its cover of snow and ice over ceaseless movement and abandons deeper into itself.
We can learn from the river. We can learn how to gracefully change shapes. How to turn with the seasons. How to form ice, when needed. How to melt in springtime. How to flow with infinite possibilities.
New shapes converge hourly down by the river. Circles here, waves there. Snow-covered rocks there, eddies here. The river never stays the same. It always changes, yet remains forever itself.
The river tenderly holds our reflection. But it also changes us. If you try to hold on tight to yourself in the river’s reflection, you will see only wavering and movement.
We are always changing, like the river.
When you look at all the particles of water flowing down the river, can you single one out and call it “river”?
No. A river is made of millions of droplets. It is larger than any one particle. The river flows of many individuals, but together they form something stronger than the parts.
What can we learn from the river changing its form? We can learn to let go of what no longer serves us. We can learn to embrace the new. We can learn that seasons offer different glimpses of ourselves. We can embrace the ice in December as well as the warm splashing in late August.
Look deeply into the river. She will show you more of yourself than you ever dreamed. She will show you your winter strengths and your summer flexibility, your spring rising and your autumn releasing.
We honor your shape-shifting into winter, dear silvered river. We hold you in our hearts–no matter what form you choose today. We vow to flow ever like you, ever like you. To never pretend we stay unchanging and limited.