Autumnal river view from last October..
“After the rains, the mountain stream at the bottom of the valley can be heard all night. It is not pushed from behind but falls with gravity. Heard from a distance, it sighs; close by, it burbles and chuckles, hisses and gurgles. Whirligigs stay in the same places with very slight variations of pattern but the water goes on and on.
The waters before, and the waters after,
Now and forever flowing, follow each other.
“Panta rhei,” said Heraclitus — everything flows and you cannot step twice into the same stream. The flow of water, of wind and of fire is obvious, as is also the flow of thought. The flow of earth and rock is less obvious but in the long run, the hard is as liquid as the soft. Streams and waves never stop moving and yet they are at rest and restful to hear because they are in no hurry to reach any destination. Indeed, they are not going anywhere at all.
When I stand by the stream and watch it, I am relatively still and the flowing water makes a path across my memory so that I realize its transience in comparison with my stability. This is, of course, an illusion, in the sense that I, too, am in flow and likewise have no final destination — for can anyone imagine finality as a form? My death will be the disappearance of a particular pattern in the water.(continued in comment section)