The River was, once, a snowflake:
a flower of chiseled ice
that fell
headlong
through air that resisted its passage.
Spinning in radial symmetry
around a crystal axis,
wilting
as toward the ground it sped
until it lit upon a lake,
a mountain basin of water
crisp and clean;
a million melted snowflakes
collected here
amassed in their potential
to trickle
headlong
over rocks and stones,
tumbling in kinetic energy:
a roaring River bound
for the Sea.

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Ero, in the year 422 AF.