Lonely Weir
The water felt the pull, the distant attractor, accelerating, enticing. The water continued to flow, as it always had running from it’s hundreds of tiny sources, growing into the torrents of streams and then rivers. Waterways channeled with a specific aim, granting the water more power than nature had ever managed. It’s destiny now written in crafted stone, occasionally trapped, but never for long. Serving masters it did not know or understand. And so it…