Does the river,sparkling through the same valley,
day after day, moment after moment,
notice the subtle shifts in the surrounding hills;
the movement of a rock,
the spill of tumbleweed?
Does it see that the leaves have fallen
from the trees who take their nourishment
from the banks that sip quietly as the river passes?
Does it notice the snow,
and anticipate with joy
the rush of melt that is to come?
Or does it think all things are new,
each tumbling moment,
and never realize that, to us,
this vista remains ultimately the same?
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