Imagine a deep, wide, river flowing along. Suddenly it falls over a high precipice. The river becomes a waterfall, breaking up into myriads of droplets. Each droplet seems separate, buffeted about by external forces, fighting for its very existence. But at the bottom of the waterfall all the drops merge back into a river, all separateness gone. We humans are rather like the drops of water, forgetting that we are always part of the great river of life.
There’s no poetry between us
Said the paper to the pen
Something’s burning in the attic
That her tongue will not defend
You expected to be sad in the Fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the Spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.