The river has taken me here, but from this point forward, I will need to lend a hand.
Still going, but if I wish to remain so, I'll need to learn to be flow as well as weight. Cast along, my steps forward driven by the lesson of your force, self-applied.
No longer to depend entirely on rushing youth; case in point: yet another slow Sunday has come upon me. What possibilities never reached this main current—dried or diverted, or rains that simply never came—if I am to remember them at all, let me do so only in the midst of paddling, myself contributing to the flow, an ample substitution.
What good is a recipe with impossible ingredients? Why keep reading through that list? This river is the river, and if I seek to finally reach (and in doing so become) its great source, whatever run-off that never reached me will have to be considered henceforth as just more dried land. Still useful in its way, solidifying the banks that help better direct that which passes ever more quickly by.