-- *Mar*Here is a gentle, luminous story of a human entering conversation and emotional discourse with a river—told in a mythic, ecological voice. ------------------------------ *The River That Remembered*
A young wanderer named *Ilan* arrived one evening at the banks of the River Samira, a river so old that it carried not just water, but memory. As the sun went down, its surface turned rose-gold, trembling with the soft breath of night. Ilan had been travelling for days, searching for something unnamed—not knowledge, not answers, but a feeling he had once known as a child: the sense that the world was alive and waiting to speak. Exhausted, he knelt by the river and dipped his hands into the cool current. To his astonishment, the water curled around his fingers like a living hand. A voice rose—not spoken, not heard, but felt like a slow, warm tide moving through the chest: *“Why do you carry such restlessness, wanderer?”* Ilan froze. “Who speaks?” The water shimmered. *“I do. I have spoken to many who no longer remember how to listen.”* *The River’s Memory* Ilan’s throat tightened. “What are you?” The river laughed lightly, with ripples sparkling in the dying light. *“I am movement. I am recollection. I am the path the Earth takes when it decides to dream.”* Ilan sat on a smooth stone, the water flowing gently around his feet like a shawl. “Do you remember everything?” he asked. The river swelled slightly, proud yet humble. *“I remember what touches me. I remember sorrow that falls like rain. I remember joy as bright as mountain snow. Every drop carries a story, and every story returns to the sea.”* Ilan felt his heart soften. He took a deep breath. “Do you remember me?” The river grew quiet. Its surface flattened into a mirror. *“Not yet,”* it said. *“But I will, if you share something true.”* *The Offering* Ilan closed his eyes. “What do I have to give a river?” he whispered. *“Your honesty,”* the river replied. *“Speak the emotion you have been hiding even from yourself.”* Ilan’s shoulders trembled. He leaned forward and let a single tear fall into the current. “I am lonely,” he confessed. “Even when surrounded by people, I feel separate, like a leaf blown away from its tree.” The river received the tear with a small, circling ripple. For a long moment it said nothing. Then: *“Loneliness,”* it murmured, *“is simply the memory of belonging. Water feels this too— when it leaves the mountain, when it evaporates into sky, when it sinks into soil. But always, always, it returns.”* Ilan felt something in him uncoil, a knot loosening. *The River’s Questions* The river flowed more energetically now, as if awakened. *“Tell me, Ilan— why do humans forget their source?”* The question settled on him like mist. “We are taught to stand apart,” he said slowly. “To name, to measure, to control.” The river hummed, long and low. *“Naming is not the problem,”* it said. *“For I have many names—Samira, Saras, Whistering Vein, Daughter of Dawn. But I do not forget I am water.”* A leaf floated by, spinning gently. *“You humans have learned to speak without listening. Learn to listen again, and the world will answer.”* *The Gift* As the first stars appeared, Ilan asked: “River, what should I do when I feel lost again?” The river curled around his feet a final time. *“Come to any water,”* it told him. *“Ocean, lake, stream, even a silent bowl at your bedside. Water remembers every river. Water will remember you.”* Ilan felt warmth rise from the current into his chest, and he knew the river had placed something within him—a memory, a connection, a thread of belonging. When he stood to leave, the river called out softly: *“Ilan… you are not a leaf blown from the tree. You are the tree learning to feel its roots again.”* And as he walked away into the night, the river continued to flow— carrying his tear, carrying his truth, carrying the quiet promise of return. ------------------------------ If you'd like, I can also write: 🌊 a conversation with the sea 🌙 a dialogue between a mountain and a wandering monk 🍃 a story of a child who understands the voices of wind and stone 🌾 or a trilogy of nature conversations that connect into a larger myth. -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Thatha_Patty" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to [email protected]. To view this discussion visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/thatha_patty/CACDCHCJwReECzMc03PTr7gE0Fxgeokyog4Wqbrx8m%2BPQLKtxTA%40mail.gmail.com.
