From the mountains in the west and the east, the great waters flow.
These high grounds have been swept with heavy rain. The waters of the west build and make their way diagonally south, toward the sea. Those of the east, likewise accumulate and travel at a steady angle south, towards the same ocean. Each body of water singular and distinct, as they travel south. Each its own entity. Their separate journeys now rush towards the inevitable joining place. This is the point at which these individual gatherings of water are destined to come together at the great ‘Y’, carved into the land. As they approach, there is no slowing.
It is here that the waters tumble, one against the other in a great broiling contest. As they come together, connect and collide, there is a mighty tumbling of froth and white water. It is a confluence of the rushing bodies. For each, their paths become a single, unavoidable channel. Beneath, a bubbling current is disturbed and turbulence rises to the surface. The battle is evident. It is on display. Together, these contentious, agitated flows move swiftly on.
The tree they approach is a landmark in their tumbling journey. It is here that the great tree hangs its leafy branches across the rushing waters. It looks on, as only a great tree can, at the battling entities. The scene is not new to it. It is repeated with the seasons and the weather. It has seen it all before. It knows that this battle to retain individuality will end soon.
It knows what lays beyond, well before the sea. It knows that before they become one with the vast ocean ahead, these competing rivers that strive to maintain their separate identities are about to mix through the mighty blending. It will be the ultimate churn, the final collision, the massive drop. A powerful mixing that will sweep away any attempt to remain apart.
It watches as they race each other south, as they fly, unstoppable towards the mighty waterfall…