When a single grain of sand is swept away from the others; when the river takes hold and it tumbles off of the sandbar into the water. I wonder: Does it fret about what’s left behind, and where it will land? Does it put up a useless fight hustling to get back to where it was, before—a place that no longer exists exactly as remembered. Does it search desperately for a map even though its destination is unknown? Lament its sudden lack of control, tightly close its eyes, muttering “This must be a dream”? Or does it float along, noting the way the sunlight sparkles on the surface, listening for the song of the birds, watching for the first signs of spring along the river banks? Does it stick out its hand and wave merrily greeting those along the way, tilting its head back, tipping it up to the sun, embracing the unknown living in the liminal space in between where it left and where it’s going?
👏🏻👏🏻stunning!
What a powerful image!