How could I expect (of course! undoubtedly!) the movements of a river to conform to the linear currents of my thoughts?
A river is. Flowing north here. Flowing south there. But don’t all things proceed, running with all their might, from their starts to their finishes?
When does the river say, “I may try flowing the other way today?”
Why am I so eager to see the end, always just over the curvature of the earth? When will I say, instead, “I may try flowing the other way today?”
IMAGE: Walkway over the Hudson, Poughkeepsie, NY