Where there is a rock,

there is a river,

and where the water flows,

it goes around the stone.

It doesn’t cease because of obstuction,

it doesn’t meander in its wake.

Its power is not in depth or breadth,

but in strength of movement.

It is swift, that determined current.

It is strong, those restless waters.

There is no contentment in stillness,

no peace in slowing streams,

no glory in clear calmness.

It rises against the jagged path,

it traverses dangerous trails.

It has its sights set on distant seas,

beyond myopic view.

The raging river has no time to waste

on obstructions that sit still.

by Janet Robinson © 2013