The River Trip

I went back up the river of my life.
Lightning fast and thunder loud.
My senses overwhelmed by the beauty,
the images  compressed by the speed

There was so much
Sky.
Hills.
Water.
Memory. Some of it not mine.

I could feel the storylines,
curl around me.
So that I was not only seeing it
but I was in it too.

A new story being made,
of how I went back up.
And felt the passage of time,
the path of the story
and how I was taught the words.

It can't have been like that
the first time I was there.
I would have noticed so many poems,
such thick branched stories. Surely?

They are there now, no doubt.
In and on that river.
Who let me back.
And only asked to fill me up.