the voice of the parable

as she walked through the empty workshop, she looked over each of the curiously created contraptions. she remembered the experiences of place and the people she had encountered and eventually loved there. she appreciated the stories forever locked within her mind, regardless of how they would grow and change with age. she smiled at the fantastic creations and the ingenious absurdities, each more enticing than the last, and she appreciated the time that she had spent on this River.

leaving this place behind was such a bittersweet involvement. all at once, she stared back into the hull of the vessel, realizing that the River’s voice had never been the one that would teach her to listen. its vibrant currents would never whisper in her ear as she had imagined in their first encounter. the people, these characters whom she had encountered on her journey _ worked with. played with. laughed with. argued with. been astounded by. it was that history that enabled her to continue with such vigor. the voice of the parable was the ingenuity and life apparent in every person.

the body of this itinerant voyager seemed to have pockets and crevices for each individual that would take part in this anthology, the space for each exploration and adventure inherent in every curve. it was astonishing to understand the complexity hidden within each gesture and she wondered if she had known the true nature of the voice in her assembly of this watercraft. here, in this structure, was the possibility that the River would never be her guide, but purely the magnificent course of expedition from which she would benefit.

maybe she had known it all along.