where the river meets the desert

She has lain barren and drifting for centuries. The desert sand. She drifts aimlessly from sand-dune to sand-dune, moulded into erotic curves by the winds. She's chaste, virgin, shy. She's young, restless and longing. Sometimes she's hard, cracked, parched earth where a stream or a field used to be. A thousand lives lie dormant in her womb. She conceals the secrets of civilizations buried deep in her breast.

He emerges from ancient glaciers, pure and determined. The river. He flows with a fury over mountains, cuts through rocks and falls over ridges. He's restless, energetic and penetrating. He's young, virile and potent. Sometimes he loses his way, drifts aimlessly, searching. He carries with him memories of unexplored lands and deep mysterious forests. He conceals the spirits of a thousand wise men in his depths.

The river flows into the desert and they both know they will never be the same again. He flows over her, exploring her curves for a while until she learns how to guide him and he understands what she's worth. She gives him purpose. He gives her meaning. Together, they're pregnant with potential.

With him, she becomes the sedate soil of the plains. He becomes the calm, tame river, the canals, and the streams. She contains him. He enriches her. Together they are the fertile fields and the soft potter's clay. They become a home, a land, a country. A place to rest. The trees, the birds, the bees and man turn to them with hope, with a prayer.

She's no longer barren. He's no longer searching.