Up the road, not far from our home, there is a Roman road...
Stones placed one by one smooth and silently singing.
Hundreds of years later another road was built bypassing the old one,
A river runs under the stone arch bridge.
Its story speaks,
Under the bridge,
Between the stones,
Running free swirling around in the river.
Words like the rain, one drop after another,
Sometimes soft as a velvet morning and other times deafen,
Hard as hail.
"What did you say?"
It runs on,
I try to catch the tail end.
“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it...One of life's quiet excitements is to stand somewhat apart from yourself and watch yourself softly becoming the author of something beautiful even if it is only a floating ash.” via Norman MacLean; A River Runs Through it.
So it goes running deep and wild.
Listen. It doesn't hold back.
Where does your river run?
A view of where I live.
By a Roman road.