Once there was a large wandering river. From glacial birth it dripped, trickled, and babbled forth, through frigid pond to freezing lake; then scampering down always down over pebbles and green moss it came. From many such glaciers did this river form. All for one and one for all, the white winter guardians slowly died, slowly became less, so the river would be more; slowly dissolved, slowly released their precious molecules to gravities keep. And so the river grew, deeper, wider, always down. Then shaded by trees, trees of all kinds. Small evergreens twisted and marred by wind and snow and ice, tall trees scarred and twisted by time and foe, large deep rooted trees wide and proud; all drinking deeply from the rivers soul. A life source and life blood it was to them. But still, on the river would go, rolling, playing, tumbling down, always down, over rocks, under rocks, through rocks. As a flowing sword this river was said to cut stone, smoothing and removing and undoing sediment, and volcanic ash, and molten rock, and precious jems and jewels alike, all the same, then flowing on and always down.
Occasioned were this river's banks by the walking forest children, free yet thirsty creatures. And though the river paid no heed to the glaciers trees or rocks, it did perceive these ten toed wanderers. For as is told in ancient lore, river blue would laugh and babble at these thirsty forest children, and it would seize their toes and limbs that did intrude upon its frosty flow. Legend states that these fair children who frequented the rivers banks would enter often, listening to the rivers voice, feeling its cool touch. Some would grasp the rivers locks, but none could hold them long. The river delighted in these children and it would play them songs at night, melodies to warm their hearts. And these dear children warmed their souls with the waters babbling poems. Even still the river would go on, always down. But this became a joy, for the river was daily new for the forest children. These humans (as they then were called) never understood the great mystery of the River, and now it has been lost forever.
None remember the true tale of the river's land which now is gone. Some choose not to believe this ancient legend. They reject the land of lively water flow. They say: "the birds, and flowers, trees and rocks all just seem so silly, who ever heard of an aquatic dance so willy-nilly." But we all agree that what was there is now gone, for that first planet we have lost. We had much to learn, and learn we have: to this day we've cultivated learned minds and these in turn have created much: our ships and machines, our rockets, robots, and zero-gravity-veggies, our UV shielded cubicles, exploration probes, and telescopes. But I fear that all that we have found and made and learned cannot bring back that land of mystery, that first home of blue and green. From those ancient forest dwellers we are descended and we must carry the memory of the laughing river with us always, lest we forget the mystery of the shining snake of Eden.
