It’s 6:45 a.m. A mist hovers over the river, and golf course where I walk. The rising sun burns the mist off the fairway, But it still drifts along the Holston River.
Look closer. Particles of sand, mud and plant tumble their way downstream through turbid waters. Are we but a speck in an ever-changing flow?
Will we morph into something else? A rock? A tree? A drifting soul? A mystery yet to unfold…
Relax. Breathe deep. Still that muddled mind.