Chatter, like water, rushes over the falls, cascading our conversations into a crashing pond below. We stand on the shore to witness the spectacle, watching it translate all the chatter into a gentle mist of peace.
Across the pond, a fisherman baits his hook, casts, and waits in hope. A tug on his line gives him a brief moment of purpose; one fleeting glimpse of hope that quickly turns into a moment of surrender, as he watches the chattered water pull back one of its own.
Chatter, like water, sweeps us back into the waves of contemplation, and just like the fisherman, we cast our baited beliefs back into the pond, hoping to catch our own brief moment of purpose with our words. We listen, and pretend to listen, waiting in between our breaths for time to ripple the shallow surface with meaning.
But will we stand on the shore of wait long enough to feel the tug, and hear the unspoken wisdom within; or will we let the chattered water pull us back into the noisy exchange, submerging all the lessons we learned, burying peace like a sunken stone.