STILLNESS of the moving water, who layeth the river down to sleep without halting its course. She appeareth in the shadowed cleft as a pale ribbon drawn over black stone, the current smoothed to a single breath of milk and silver, neither white nor blue but the held color between; on either bank a standing rank of trees burns crimson in the high light, wardens that keep their watch while the water dreams beneath them. Her office is to draw the swift into the slow, to gather a thousand passing instants into one unbroken skin, to teach the Work that motion and rest are one body seen at two speeds. Where she passes the rock is patient and the forest is fire. Look long: the river runs and does not move.
The words above arrive with your print, pressed onto fine-art card.
