The River and the Stone

A man sat under a tree, dying. The river was passing him by, and he knew he could not stop it. The river moved steadily, ripples opening, caressing boulders protruding from the river bed.

The river stones are witnesses to the river, he said. They have been there. They know how long they have been in the river, and how long the river has been. The stones and the river are the same age.

Stones, tell me the secret to remaining? River, what does it mean to keep flowing? No answer, except the gurgles, water against stone. Just as the man was ready, a raven landed along the river bank. And as it landed, the man drifted toward the river, to the bird, and was caught up as the black wings became his, he became the air, and his body became the river.