Still tumbling from it's mountain descent, this maelstrom cascades past me, races towards a space for more gentle swaying, for the slower swirls of dark edged river, shadowy depths then lazy wide curves that reach out to meet with the tide.
I wonder if I became invisible there, or turned into rock or tree? Water sprite, bee, dragonfly? Dandelion clock or tiny speck of grit? I look high across the valley to another mountain, to the bustling lines of another crystalline waterfall crashing in the distance, to another relentlessly journeying force, to another place to sit midstream.