The water is a seemingly unending creature. The river swallows the surrounding land; it has forged its way through the dense forest landscape. The drop at the far end of the swollen river lends toward the power of it all. Crystal clear water. The smell of it permeates everything.

A swallow shoots across the spotless blue sky. It dips low, almost touching the water. With its wings spread out, it sails parallel to the surface. When the floor drops off and the waters crash downward, a devastating plummeting of mass, the swallow continues forward, now hundreds of feet in the air.

The shores of the river are perilous. An oak tree slips into the water, and disappears in an instant. Loose dirt and visible roots show a history of the waters disregard for permanency of the surrounding boundaries. The waters push forward and the world is sucked in. The river refuses to quiet, it refuses to allow its surface to turn to glass. The currents swirl. The trees shift. The water drops.


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