The River speaks in swirls and I bow to them, in the movement of listening. A student of whispered wisdom, I pay reverence to its fluid symphony: each ripple, a gentle reminder, guiding me in the art of presence. To be transformed by listening: this is among the forms of relating that I embrace, in my daily dialogues with this place — while being, myself, somewhat displaced. 

 

Within these depths of movement lies an emotional resonance made by an harmony of connection. What if the investment in defence would be surpassed by that of love, I wonder as I watch the fluidity go, at times nurtured by a tender spirit whose gentle invitation goes beyond any analytical stance, filled with purposeful intent. I re-member, in a sigh, the so familiar paths of human activity often lauded as progress, as they unveil, here, clearly, short-sighted and short-lived before my eyes in the long timeframe of beings. To these and to others I call, to merely exploit the River's gifts for our gain is to constrain the boundless potential of our relationship: of our kinship. Progress can be as clear as these waters, and there is no dam or any other next form of one-sided relationship that should transform its translucidity. Instead, let us venture into these banks as humble listeners, with the arms held as the first beginners of time, eager to pause and to learn to the age-old insights of the River’s ever-shifting currents and ecosystems, above and below in fundamental care. For in this communion, we may discover the true essence of beauty, of its meaning beyond fleeting emotions to welcome and understand the River's timeless dance.

 

As I stand here, by the River’s side I am so young, and I am not as much from this land as the River: no one is. I move and stay quiet, and listen.And on that carries me, and others, in serenity.

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A winter day: in which rays of sun mistakenly indicate warmth. It is not, but cold, windy and dark with clouds. The river took its dance with the light, as he, or she, or they practised through steps and murmurs of water coloured as lead, yet thoroughly transparent and clear. Silver fish turned around to the surface, with the sheer rhythm of their scales. On land, through the garden, tree leaves blow in the similar sound of water itself flowing, and magpies, blackbirds, sparrows, chirped, tweeted, whistled, sang. I find more wisdom here than in highways: beyond the obvious beauty and awe, there’s the possibility of observing nature’s intelligence, the flawless interconnection between living beings and their environment, the intricate similarity and delicate composition of differences and opposites that human disciplines, such as maths and biology, observe and study. The substance of things, within the tides and how these relate to the winds and to the curly waves they form; and to the rain that, soon after, fell. And with that, I ran with it, leaving geometry, the human conceptualisation of river, estuary and all its multiple language forms of beauty and water behind.