They are the only ones who actually see me. I am the only one who see them. Six strong streams with icy water and rushing currents. Six who flow into each other to become one. Six ferocious excuses created by the mountains. From the land, we can see them, but Mother just complains and doesn’t take time for these things.

Their strength is a gift. They send their chilly tears into the ocean. They increase and they decrease and grab the earth between their flowing currents and grab the ground with violent froth and never quit their raging. This is how they hold.

Let one forget his reason for living, they’d all die out with the last drop, each with their tears around the other. Hold, hold, hold they say when I lay. They develop.

When I am too mad and too raged to hold on, when I am a tiny person against so much power, then it is I look at the streams. When there is nothing more to look at on this land. Six who developed despite authority. Six who grow and do not forget to grow. Six whose only reason is to grow and grow.