The River

Editor's Note: I know I haven't written any real blog material, but I have been busy slash bored with my life, so here, read this instead. 

Come stand in the river,

Let it wash over your feet, your calves; you're thinking

Is the water rising, or are you sinking?

Does it matter?

Let it wash over you, rushing in a direction unknown,

Pulling at you, your feet slipping over the smooth stones.

The river is clean; the river is kind.

It doesn't ask for you to please wipe your feet

Before you come in, because the river doesn't mind

A little dirt; that's how it stays clean.

The river is older than you can imagine

But it doesn't feel old.

It feels young and vibrant, refreshing and cold

As the last snow before the spring.

The river is deep; it is full of hidden things.

The river will keep your secrets. It is

Wise enough to know that a secret should be kept.

It will gather your tears and hold you while they're swept

Downstream, to be forgotten, just another drop

Of water in the river.

So why shouldn't you come stand in the river?

It is kinder than the land

Which reminds you with a footprint where you stand

And approximately how much you weigh.

The river doesn't judge you. It doesn't say

With a groan that you're heavier than you used to be

Because the river is made of water, weightless and free.

And the river has been places. It knows

About the salty ocean shore and the mountains where it snows.

The river always remembers a name.

It has seen many people, and it remembers all of them,

Not one of them the same.

Did no one ever tell you how much the river loves you?

It only wants to hug your ankles on a summer day

And kiss your thighs and pull your cares away.

Although the river has many loves,

It doesn't love you any less.

It is just the river's nature, and you cannot think on it

Unkindly. If the river were to only caress

You and leave the rest of us baking on the shore

Then we wouldn't want to come stand in the river anymore

And when you left, the river would be lonely.

It would be selfish of you to ask that of the river.

The river doesn't love for itself, it is a giver

Of love.

The river is also a mirror, it cannot show you

Anything untrue.

If you do not like what you see in the river,

Don't be angry with the river, it still likes you.

The river loves your bare toes, and the spray

Of freckles on your nose; it loves the way

The tiny hairs on the top of your feet

Move with the water; it loves the quickened beat

Of your heart when you feel how cold the river is.

If you think that you might have made the river angry,

By throwing stones at it, or muddying the water

By scuffing up the bottom, don't worry.

The river is gentle and quick to forgive.

So just come stand in the river.

Stand there and live.