The stones were dry and hot from the baking sunlight, it had been a long drought, but now the rain and the melted snow high on the mountain formed a waterfall cascading over the rocks. Swallows came to nest on a cliff nearby, building their nests of mud and straw where they protect their eggs and raise their chicks. To human ears the sound made by The Waterfall is but rumbling and gurgling. But the birds would speak to the waterfall and It would speak to them.
Together they pondered life's Greater meaning, the Purpose of all things, how the lives of the birds go on from generation to generation. And the waterfall pondered the question; Am I here because of the water that flows through and downstream eventually into the ocean. Does running water Make me who I am or is it the shape of the Rocks that the waters run across and give me my form, my existence?
Time seemed to flow by quickly for the waterfall, soon the little swallows grew strong and flew away and so did their parents. The dry winds came again. The Waterfall wondered would he remember his little friends when they returned, would he be the same, would the Waterfall know itself as it knows itself now? With that thought the waterfall ceased to be, yet in time a raindrop fell and then another and another. The waterfall was alive and happy once more, even more so when its feathered friends returned.
The waterfall asked the birds; Am I the same waterfall each time you return or am I a new waterfall? Do you have a name that you call me? The mother swallow said "we simply call you Our Waterfall because you are the same each time we return". Time went by and the dry winds came and the waterfall turned into a trickle, the birds flew away. Soon the waterfall was only dry rocks that lay on the hillside in dreamless sleep. But then one day a raindrop fell and another and another and the sound of feathered wings filled the air.