Khudros
03-03-2005, 13:56
He sat there on a grassy knoll, overlooking the bank of the tumultuous river rushing by. It had been only a creek a few days earlier, before the storms had arrived. Now as he watched, bits of debris floated by, busily on their way to meet whatever fate the currents bestowed on them.
Earlier that day it had seemed as if the rain would never end, but of course it had, as all things do. The sun now shone brilliantly upon the soaked grass, blanketing his surroundings. The scene would be rather peaceful if not for the deafening noise of moving water.
Yes, this river was the world unsheltered. Neither peaceful nor harmonious, only elemental and unfeeling. The river had no soul. There was no illustrious purpose, no goal but to follow the path it was meant to follow. It didn't care where it was going or what entrapped bits of driftwood it carried along with it. It's only purpose was to flow.
Without thinking, he grabbed a hand-sized clod of packed earth and grass, and hurled it into the rushing water, watching as it was quickly devoured and carried downstream. It really was a noisy river. He hadn't even heard a splash.
There was no getting around it. The river carried you downstream, whether that's where you wanted to go or not. Once it embraced you, it took whatever freedom of direction you once had, and where it went you went. That had to be the most frightening thing about being caught in a flood. He was glad to be watching this one from a safe distance.
The only thing that seemed to defy this particular river was an enormous, elephant sized boulder entrenched at around midstream. It sat there in stubborn defiance as the water swept over and around it, refusing to be disturbed from its ancient perch. That lump of rock must have seen a thousand of these floods since it first found its way here, he thought as he stared transfixed. In a way he admired such tenacity, even though it was just an inert object. Something about its cold, hard composure as it confronted a relentless environment struck him as noble.
But he knew that in the end the water would have its way even with this proud boulder. The river would be there, every second of every day, sometimes a trickle and sometimes a torrent, but always there. It would wash its way about the edges, doggedly and methodically carving away at the rock's surface, until one day the once massive boulder would be weathered into nothing. He could already detect a bit of smoothness to the rock's once jagged features. This definitely wasn't the boulder it had once been, and it would only be further diminished.
There was no getting around it. What couldn't be carried would be moulded. Whether you went with the flow or stood against it, there was no difference. Either way, the river won. That was life.
Earlier that day it had seemed as if the rain would never end, but of course it had, as all things do. The sun now shone brilliantly upon the soaked grass, blanketing his surroundings. The scene would be rather peaceful if not for the deafening noise of moving water.
Yes, this river was the world unsheltered. Neither peaceful nor harmonious, only elemental and unfeeling. The river had no soul. There was no illustrious purpose, no goal but to follow the path it was meant to follow. It didn't care where it was going or what entrapped bits of driftwood it carried along with it. It's only purpose was to flow.
Without thinking, he grabbed a hand-sized clod of packed earth and grass, and hurled it into the rushing water, watching as it was quickly devoured and carried downstream. It really was a noisy river. He hadn't even heard a splash.
There was no getting around it. The river carried you downstream, whether that's where you wanted to go or not. Once it embraced you, it took whatever freedom of direction you once had, and where it went you went. That had to be the most frightening thing about being caught in a flood. He was glad to be watching this one from a safe distance.
The only thing that seemed to defy this particular river was an enormous, elephant sized boulder entrenched at around midstream. It sat there in stubborn defiance as the water swept over and around it, refusing to be disturbed from its ancient perch. That lump of rock must have seen a thousand of these floods since it first found its way here, he thought as he stared transfixed. In a way he admired such tenacity, even though it was just an inert object. Something about its cold, hard composure as it confronted a relentless environment struck him as noble.
But he knew that in the end the water would have its way even with this proud boulder. The river would be there, every second of every day, sometimes a trickle and sometimes a torrent, but always there. It would wash its way about the edges, doggedly and methodically carving away at the rock's surface, until one day the once massive boulder would be weathered into nothing. He could already detect a bit of smoothness to the rock's once jagged features. This definitely wasn't the boulder it had once been, and it would only be further diminished.
There was no getting around it. What couldn't be carried would be moulded. Whether you went with the flow or stood against it, there was no difference. Either way, the river won. That was life.