The River

The clouds were gray with no hint of dissipating, the air was cold, supernaturally cold, that it pierced to the bone. All around lay a desolate wasteland, nothing growing, no sign of life. Just empty.
The only movement apart from the shifting clouds was the river, barely flowing as if it had not the energy, but at other spots the ebb and flow changed so suddenly, and without warning, that the whole river churned and became more unstable than the most wild of rapids, before calming into the apathetic flow minutes later.

But unbeknown to the casual viewer, beneath the the apathetic and at times violent surface, was a constant flow beneath; an underwater current untouched by the surface, flowing gently, peacefully, clear as clear can be be, but hidden and obscured by the surface.

Maybe in the future they will merge to be a gentle rolling stream, or maybe not. For that outcome lies beyond the horizon, where none have yet to venture.

But... the forecast for beyond the horizon calls for mostly clear skies intermingled with some gray clouds.