river [Theme] Page 3

My mother once wrote a poem about rivers. They're like women, it said. They begin with little girls, streams in bright flowers. Then they grow up, turn into rapid streams, pave paths in granite, throw themselves from the rocks, fearless, unstoweet. Then they are distributed, become calm and businesslike, goods and different garbage float along wide smooth turns. But in the dark depths of the unconscious grow huge som, reaching the size of a barge. Once every hundred years, storms occur, rivers take back their words, change marriage vows and flood the banks. Finally they exhale, devastated by childbirth, and turn into vast swamps adjacent to the sea.