In the River sometimes, a floating twig catches on a weed or another underwater obstacle, and becomes stuck. Then another twig, or a leaf, or debris from the human world; something else catches on the twig, and then a branch comes floating down on the current, and sticks. An unintended dam forms, holding up a burden of water and letting through only half the current's strength.
And if the water could know what is happening, it would suffer frustration at not being able to flow so clearly and at such a strength as it knows it has. If the dam survives, it takes on a look of permanence; perhaps even green things begin to grow on it, moss, weeds. The River is a pool at this point, with depth, and currents that twist within the confined space. The River would become accustomed to its new shape, and it would keep much water here.
But how simple it would be, if that first twig could be found, and recognised for what it is, broken and washed away, for the River to rediscover its strength, and more.
And if the water could know what is happening, it would suffer frustration at not being able to flow so clearly and at such a strength as it knows it has. If the dam survives, it takes on a look of permanence; perhaps even green things begin to grow on it, moss, weeds. The River is a pool at this point, with depth, and currents that twist within the confined space. The River would become accustomed to its new shape, and it would keep much water here.
But how simple it would be, if that first twig could be found, and recognised for what it is, broken and washed away, for the River to rediscover its strength, and more.
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