The river of time runs into the sea of eternity. The sea is infinite, thus never full. Yet, my river has both a beginning and an end.
I am closer now, at fifty-three, to the end of my river than I am to my beginning. Will my stream impact the solid banks on either side of me? Will any discover a dried up river bed when my time is over, and wonder what it looked like in the day that it flowed? Will any be curious to know if it was a slow, graceful current, or a mad rush of turbulence? Will it lie dormant and undiscovered, wholly unremarkable? Will there be any in the surrounding landscape to notice or mourn its absence?