My mother once wrote a poem about rivers. They were women, she wrote. Starting out small girls, tiny streams decorated with wildflowers. They were torrents, gouging paths through sheer granite, flinging themselves off cliffs, fearless and irresistible. Later, they grew fat servicable, broad slow curves carrying commerce and sewage, but in their unconscious depths catfish gorged, grew the size of barges, and in the hundred-year storms, they rose up, forgetting the promises they made, the wedding vows, and drowned everything for miles around. Finally they gave out, birth-emptied, malarial, into a fan of swamps that met the ocean. Janet Fitch
About This Quote

This is a great poem, with a lot of meaning behind it. This quote depicts how rivers were once these brawling, unruly girls that in their own way could be like mothers in their own right. Then, as they grew and matured and became the great transportation lines for the world, they became reliable and reliable at carrying life and death in their floods. But people never thought of them as mothers in the way we do with our mothers. They were seen as nothing but moving water, but when they flooded and drowned everything around them, they gave birth to new land and were then considered to be worthy of that title.

Source: White Oleander

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