The Yangtze River
What a river this must be to make itself felt so far out from land, to so impress its personality on its overlord, the sea. I made a bow to it in my mind, for I felt in the presence of a great monarch. And I was not mistaken. The Yangtze River, as we followed its smooth course up through the immense stretches of flat farm land of coastal China, was one of those rivers which give the impression of being the only true and permanent rulers of the earth.
Rivers perhaps are the only physical features of the world that are at their best from the air. Mountain ranges, no longer seen in profiles, dwarf to anthills; seas lose their horizons;lakes have no longer depth but look like bright pennies on the earth's surface; forests become a thin impermanent film, a moss on the top of a wet stone, easily rubbed off. But rivers,which from the ground one usually sees only in cross sections,like a small sample of ribbon -- rivers stretch out serenely ahead as far as the eye can reach. Rivers are seen in their true stature.
They tumble down mountainsides; they meander through flat farmlands. Valleys trail them; cities ride them; farms cling to them; road and railroad tracks run after them and they remain, permanent, possessive. Next to them, man 's gleaming cement roads which he has built with such care look fragile as paper streamers thrown over the hills easily blown away. Even the railroads seem only scratched in with a penknife. But rivers have carved their way over the earth's face for centuries and they will stay.
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