They are the only ones who protect me. I am the only one who protects them. Three twisting streams with murky water and hidden currents. Three who run wild yet never escape their ground. Three ugly tides, too dark to be pretty. From my bed, I can hear them, sometimes my sisters hear them too.
Their depth is secret. They have sharp, jagged rocks beneath the surface. They claw into the sand and they scrape their way up with sharp talons and never slow their strength. This is how they rise.
Let one forget his reason for being, they’d all scream like the rain in a storm, each with a relentless force too loud to be ignored. Rise, rise, rise they say when I stop. They race.
When I am too slow and too soft to keep rising, when I am a fragile river against so many oceans, I look to the streams. When there is nothing left to search for in these woods. Three who flow despite their rocks. Three who scrape and claw and do not forget to scream. Three whose only reason is to rise.