Sitting at the base of a waterfall,
the trickle beats on hardened rocks.
Millions of drops unite as one.
Falling on their own accord from a stream carved by time.
The droplets assault with furious force—leaving divots
so small a geologist wouldn’t care.
I come to this place from time to time—finding
small changes here and there.
The discrete revisions may not be seen (even by the rock).
With time and power—the shift is clear.
Today I realize that I am the rock—pounded
perpetually by choices and changes.
I may not see how petty changes shift the whole.
That is, until the normal of today
separates from the normal of yesterday.
Written 23 April 2012