With a single desire, to reach the sea.

To melt with its likeness and tell tales of the journey, the imminent arrival.

Leave behind the hard frozen stillness, not yet brought to life by the Sun's gentle persistence.

Warm vibration.
Soft meandering.
Liquid migration, sped by gravities' relentless pull.
Weaving, falling, crashing loud, it's echoing fury roaring like a hammer to the senses.

The course already worn by those that have come before, ripping and gouging the earth like a plough, making the way easier for all that follow.

Nature's wooded, rooted stillness, watches with silent indignation.

Jealous of the fast fury, the white untethered rawness, the planned chaos. Power contained in the knowledge of its own destiny.

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