Everything is random, by the forces upon them.
It flows, then it hurdles and cascades, thoughtless of the rocks.
It scatters, then gathers a great wave.
It crashes, it corodes and creates it anew.
We are the pebble, caught in the wash.
If we’re still as we tumble we can only just hear, the roar of whatever was, and the hiss of what will become.
And know, for a moment, that we are the where, where it all came to be.