a river knows not its destination, it knows only the grassy banks and rocky shores that pass by, and the feeling of running over falls
a river knows not what time is, it knows only the water’s endless flow through the bright, hot sun or under a cover of ice and stars
a river knows not the meaning of distance, it knows only that a part of itself exists in the melting, dripping icebergs in the north and at the sandy banks where it meets the ocean and becomes the ocean
a river knows not what death is, it knows only that when the air is dry it becomes vapor in the skies, forms droplets, falls, collects, becomes a river again
We can learn a lot from rivers, I think.