In time.

.
.

For every gift, a price.  Knowing the river and the land means much loss and great gain.  The river isn't done with me yet.  Nor I it.  Be grateful if you only swim there once.  Few appreciate those of us who come and go.


It's almost a rhythm.  For some.  They can put it out in words, set it to a beat, add other music around it, and just dance with the thing.  Somehow I suspect they have no idea. 


I think I am about to leave the river.  I will never truly dry off.  And I will have to go back, someday.  I wish I could... discuss these things without others having fear.  Deep down, I see it, in even the most brave.  Not just a fear of the river, but a fear of those who have gone in it for so long, so often, and so deeply.  But I'm not, or not anymore, a monster.

For most.  Oh... you know who you are.  Yum!

Yes, life is returning.  It might not seem like it, to some.  They can no more understand the river than they can understand getting in or out of it.  Pleased, I am, either way, in full.  It is merely the transitional stages, especially when they drag on through time, that are difficult.  I am nearing the shores, in shallows, if through mud and sand which slows me.  Give it some time, a year maybe, and I should be... dry enough.  Still, where I am, and as things are, it will never be anything other than a...


Later.