Because I saw a leaf in the river…

Quiet amid the violent din. Safe from the shore but pure rage and chaos to the leaf, the stick, a clumsy squirrel, perhaps. Normal for the old oak. Nothing to see here. Certain death in the middle. A watery, unrelenting grave. Swirling, constantly toying, batting you around like a mouse to a barn cat. Perspective is everything. Context is king. At the edge, the source of life for the living. One more slippery inch, the cause of death for the formerly living. An oasis. A death sentence. One in the same, this keeper of so many secrets. Revealer of so many fears. The violence within. The calm throughout. Truth and consequenses trapped in the silt.

[James River at Pony Pasture]