Always There

There are times we wait for when we do not know what will happen, or if anything could ever happen again. The days go by, one after another, but we cannot expect anything to be any different.

These things never change, except that they change all the time. The river is always there, but it is never still, always moving; always changing its shape like some slow snake as it coils around our lives.

The days too are always the same one after the other, but always different too. No day is like another, even though they are all the same. Each one has its own name and its own characteristics and idiosyncrasies, even though it is no different to the days that have gone before, and will – probably – resemble all the days that come after it, right down to the last one.