The Writing River: One Writer’s Journey

The Writing River

I played in the river when I was young, I dared in it, I flowed with ease.

As I aged, I was smarter. I knew more than the ancient river. Dam that river, I thought. I fought for my control.

When the dam collapsed, I swam upstream to find what I was missing. I beat against the current until I buckled on the banks, fighting my lungs for the air.

I dragged my cleverness along the banks, from time to time dipping my toes in the stream that lured me. When I couldn’t bear to be so close yet not in it, I stuffed miles between me and the river to muffle its song, to escape the never-ending babbling, trickling, rippling, burbling that mocked me.

Even across the miles and years, the river beckoned: Come flow with me, gentle, downstream. Let me carry you to your dreams.

Forty years passed. I returned to the river. I made promises about dams and downstream, about showing up, about the flow.

As is the river, so am I: older, different, changing.

I’m one with the river now. The river is in me.

We flow.

When the flow slows, spilling into eddies, I spin in the eddy. Relax. Gentle reflection. When the waters thrill around boulders, spill over crags, I gasp delight, take long graceful dives into deep pools.

Every day, I stand on the banks of the ancient, wise river that will always and only flow. I show up at the writing river, ready for its gifts. I show up to let go and let flow.

©Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved. 2021.

About Pennie Nichols

This little corner is dedicated to some of the things that interest me and to those of you who share those interests about relationships, travel, cooking, gardening, canning, jewelry, and writing. I’ll throw in some recipes and stories for your reading pleasure.

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