In the gentle currents of the stream, there lies a whisper, a soft murmur that carries voices from times unknown. The riffle, that place where calm is disrupted and clarity is born, holds memories of what once was —or might never be again.
Consider the strands of water weaving together, each drop a note in a symphony of flow. They mirror our thoughts, scattered yet bound by an unseen purpose, shapeshifting as they cascade over unseen stones, echoing the melancholic song of existence.
Connected to the world yet relentless in its solitude, the riffle exists in a moment, perfect and transient. It invites a pause, a deep breath in the face of life's inevitable transformations. Why do we find ourselves drawn to these natural eddies, caught in the lull of its eternal play?
Perhaps it is the promise of resolution in the dance of water, a promise that we yearn to find in our lives. Like the riffle, we search for the junctions where turbulence births clarity, where chaos contributes to a greater coherence.
Continuing the Flow Heard in Whispers