Water spills over the cliffs, bashing itself against the granite again and again, dropping down into plunge pools dozens of feet below.  It does not die.

Water drops from highest sky, yet does not shatter.

Not imprisoned in a skeletal shape, water sculpts the bones.

Water assumes no form, and so it is every form.

Ice and cloud, storm and dewdrop, water shifts in aspect, yet always remains water.

Unresisting, water does not break.  Crashing, it yields.  Stopped in its tracks, water grinds mountain to dust.

Held by any mold which seeks to possess it, water yields to all embraces, so showing the impermanence of all holding.  Water finds a way through, and flows on, and on.

© 2015 by Michael C. Just