Unleashing the River

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

I followed the stream up to where I had dammed it a year ago. I was surprised it had held this long. It hadn't taken much to build, just a couple dozen rocks stacked in the right places. Looking back, I wondered why I had done it at all. I mean I knew the reason. The reason was to prevent the house or the city, or the valley from flooding. It wasn't noble exactly but I had felt it was a good idea. I didn't flood the land and as a result more people would drop in for a dip. A small, carefully managed stream I thought would be more of a draw than overwhelming violence of rushing water.

The problem was that in a twist of irony, it was the people that had dried up first.

I started clearing rocks. The small ones first. I realized that I never should have blocked the stream in the first place. Come what may, the river should have been free to rage. And if it should be seen as destructive, well there was no one to complain now.

Water splashed over my feet and it wasn't long before the river and I became one.


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