I am the River.

Long and dirty and crooked have I run.

Since the ice crept back, gouging out rolling hills for me to twist between and furrows for me to fill, I have let this endless expanse of land pour into me.

For I have no single, cyclopean source. Rather, dozens of smaller rivers fed by hundreds and thousands of yet smaller creeks, brooks and streams birth me.

And through those many, I bring life to even more. Carrying pieces of them down into my delta, making something of them, something new.

I am the ultimate expression of democracy, of the insignificant many creating the unstoppable one.

I my quiet, I sound of peace and tranquility. When I rage, I sound with a roar greater than any lion’s. I ebb and I flow, never content to stay in one place, yet I am still as intractable as the ground beneath your feet. I will never be inviting, but I will welcome any with open arms.

One must simply understand that I have been here much, much longer than you, and I will be here long after passed.

I am the River.

Long and dirty and crooked shall I run.

Memphis Note
The Mississippi River is the most defining geographic characteristic of Memphis. And it was only a matter of time until I wrote something like this about it. I’m honestly surprised I made it past the half-way mark before doing it.