River Isle

They are small, often taking the same oblong, half-angular, half-arched shape - like a slug slinking its way upstream; but given the force of erosion, into a wall of incineration - and despite the fact they are only barely separated  from the mainland, each takes on a remarkably individual character, separating it not only from the banks opposite, but the rest of the world entirely. They are the backdrops of fairy tales, the setting for both the wonderment of boys and the inspiration of men. They are at once everything real and surreal as they are able to exist simultaneously. They are the salvation of mind and spirit, which is to say, where they meet, intransitively fixed for the remainder of their time together, which is meaningless. The eternity of the river isle is inexorable. These moments, bathed in the afternoon sunlight, the minnows gliding away from floating ducks, the dragonflies attached tail to forehead in their dance of passion, the eddies slowly turning the current upstream - the elements in perfect balance - these moments never cease to exist. They are reserved for the accolades of heroes; they are carved into mind and spirit, where they are infinite, which is to say: unforgettable.