River returns The river is a mystery. It's currents vary according to the seasons, its width, the contours of the banks, and depths at varying points. Above all, a river's behaviour depends on what happens elsewhere - the uplands, the catchment. It's course may occasionally change, but it returns to it's path; the path is it's memory. And along each river's path civilisations have emerged, only sustained by it. They hold thus the cultural memories of the humankind, enrich it, and to those who make it a point to engage as individuals, provides meaning to their lives. So like a river returns - by evaporation to clouds, precipitation, flows I too return to it. It's mystical. It embraces and engulfs me every time with forms and colours.