The Crying River
A small stream started his journey towards the big ocean. He wanted to be one with the huge body of water. That was the only goal. The stream, painstakingly cut through the rocks and the dirt and was trying to make its way down the mountain. It was a huge mountain. He remembered his mother, the glacier. She was white and pure, but when he was born he saw her sick and blemished. She was receding every moment and he was probably the last child who was born. He remembered the moments he was born and let down the earth. He was so pure and clean, cutting through rocks slowly and getting stronger from the minerals. He felt very lonely and sad. His mother was dying. That was inevitable he thought. He just couldn't grasp the reason. Not yet though. The stream was sad, but that was a part of his life. He was too lonely. He meandered through the forest, gaining in width and depth, his clear fresh water running over every obstacle. Slowly he gained pride. He was a majestic flow, etching ...