la première pensée 1.0

I must be a young river for I have become a tarn; I have not yet enough power nor force behind me to push beyond these still waters.
Part of me prays to the sun, please melt the reserve of last winter, give me strength so that I may continue my flow seaward.
As I plead part of me clenches up in fear: I am comforted by this consistency, by the equilibrium I find in having the same rocks always in my waters. The same creatures to visit me day in and day out.
But wait, I am not the only thing here, I am part of a whole ecosystem which works symbiotically. There are many parts to my existing in such a way. More fear, near paranoia seeps in- this is not all up to me, I do not control the whole of my existence. There are indeed outside factors to which I am but a tarn, motionless and lacking the tool of persuasion. The most I can do is hope the wind will blow so that the sun may shine and sparkle off my rippling surface.
Imagine, what if these rocks should want motion? What if they lay still at the bottom of my pond, only to be dreaming of new waters washing over them? There could be an avalanche, many rocks could pound down into me at once, displacing my body and sending me forth on my sea bound journey.
Should I flow on, would it be best to continue my winding, weaving, ever changing journey? Why do I bother pondering such things? For now, I have no choice and so I shall wait on the sun.