by Jackson Murray

Created on: April 28, 2009

I stood on the rivers edge, looking into its depths and eddy's, its pools and currents, watching my my life pass me by. Spring was upon us, yet I was stuck in the twilight of winter. The snow was piling up, surrounding me, burying my present in thoughts of the past. It was then the wind blew and it had a name. I remember it not, even now, years later, yet it spoke its name to me when every constant in my life had forsaken me.

All we can truly claim in this world is ownership. Ownership of ourselves and actions, our present and future. Lack of this leads to a failure of ourselves. We must be true to ourselves, only then can we be true to others; even then, at times, you can't be true to others because it contradicts our lives. She failed to take ownership, to be true to herself and on that day I failed.

The day she left the snow started to fall, white on black. She left it all behind; Love and myself, her family and friends, but most importantly she left her life. You must surrender to the wind, let it blow you where you are meant to go. Surrender, but never give up, never throw it all away with an overdose of meaningless experiences. She tried to surrender, but in the end gave up.

I feel the wind blowing. Where, I don't know; yet for the first time I will fully surrender to the passion which guides us. I will not give up, I cannot, or I will join her before I am meant to leave this realm. My feet will tread a path on this earth where ever the wind blows and own the path I blaze behind. I will go with the wind, listening for its name, away from the rivers edge and take ownership of my life, because only then can you truly and honestly be free.

The river moved on, drunkenly though the hills, guided by its banks which will erode with time. Elms and oaks, evergreens and birches surrounded us, comforted us in our grief; leaves turned down as I stood watching the river of my life. Splashing water on the shore, the wind blew the snow away and the first signs of spring, of life, started to show its self; the green of the plants, of the living earth. With death there is life, always life. Even when we are all gone and the wilds reconquer what man took, life will always thrive. In order to live we must die, a hundred deaths, a thousand; yet each time we die we must never give up. Only surrender. My path wove though the woods, away from the river, away from givin up.

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