None of them would ever know when it all began. Human memory
doesn’t reach that far back. Recorded history has its limits. Time is a veil
not easily pierced.
Where it began? That’s another story. It began on the river, always
on the river. This, everyone could see. Rivers take the long view, and the
signs they carve into the earth survive the ages.
Every ripple, every riffle, every eddy, each rush of wild whitewater
over rocks or between towering limestone walls, every still-seeming pool
hiding quick currents, all these aspects of the river exist in the now but hold
the memory of eons gone by, and at night the river whispers or roars or
babbles its secret memories to those who know how to listen.
The river is at fault, yet blameless. The river doesn’t choose sides or
But the river remembers….