The River and the Dawn
I sat by the river at first light,
when the world still whispered in prayer.
Mist curled over the water
like thoughts unspoken,
and I felt the quiet weight of knowing—
that some truths do not shout,
they breathe.
I asked the river how it never loses its way.
It answered without words—
by moving.
By trusting the pull
of the One who shaped its course.
That was the first time
I understood faith.
Knowledge came to me slowly,
like sunlight finding its place on the water—
not in thunder or brilliance,
but in the gentle unfolding
of what I was always meant to see.
There is beauty in not rushing.
There is wisdom in silence.
And there is faith in each small step
that follows light it cannot yet behold.
When I rose to leave,
the dawn leaned closer,
and I felt it—
the peace of being guided,
the grace of understanding just enough,
and the certainty
that every current returns
to the Source who sent it.
