Liquid Tear

It flows, like a sweet liquid tear across the landscape. Constantly changing yet still remaining in essence the same. The river.
In the deepest winter, parts of the river are frozen solid like glass that children skate on, men over decades and plum brandy recall such times with fondness. People come and people go but the river remains long after the party’s over. The action of the river is simple it is eating away the land slowly, methodically, relentlessly from Germany to Romania.
When I think of the river I think of infinity, of inspiration and of adventure.
Though the river to some in the not so distant past was an obstacle to be traversed to freedom. Many died trying to cross its icy quickness.