Skip to content


“Time is a kind of river, an irresistible flood sweeping up men and events and carrying them headlong, one after the other, to the great sea of being.” – Marcus Aurelius

“The rivers flow not past, but through us.” – John Muir

Winter’s grip loosened by spirts of spring warmth, soft drizzle mixed with snow, full April showers.
Winter holds a bit longer, spring patiently waits its turn.
Certainty in her return but the full transition not yet complete.
The ice breaks to water, from drip to raging waterfall, to open water.
Returning to the basin, home, a place of belonging.
The tide roles in to kiss the river’s mighty entry to be joined, unfolded, united.
Allow the seasons their due, their place, their work, their purpose.
Shaping, molding, stretching, expanding, deepening, releasing, embracing.
Through is the only path.

“I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.” – John O’Donohue

No comments yet

Leave a Reply