Wrote this when I was bored this afternoon.
There are certain moments in time that come unexpected, but when they embrace your startled gaze, and are felt from the tips of your toes to the tips of your fingertips in a flurry of shock, you can only ascertain that their occurrences are kismet.
A lonely river, after all, maybe tumble through all sorts of unforeseen twists and turns, ups and downs, calm currents and rushing rapids – but its flowing, glimmering path is always destined to give itself to the ocean in the end.
Freshwater to saltwater, stone beds to sand floors, an entity anew.
Just as the leaves transform to a splendor of scarlet and gold in the fall, and the hoarfrost coruscates lotus blossoms in the early mornings, or perhaps like a weary traveler who sets out on a mazy journey – these instances are recognized as fate.
We are all brooks and streams, feeding off one another with chilled courses and broad sweeps of softness, of sublte ripples and moss.
There are no derivations from the common path, for in the end it is a confluence that greets us all.