Just like life itself.
Don't you see?
It begins somewhere away off at some little spring, and just keeps going and going and going; and thousands and thousands of other springs, scattered all over the country, start streams and creeks and branches that run into it, and make it bigger and bigger, as it winds and curves and twists along, until it finally reaches the great sea, where its waters are united with all the waters from all the rivers in all the world.

And in all of its many, many miles, from that first tiny spring to the sea, there are not two feet of it exactly alike.
In all the centuries of its being, there are never two hours alike.

An infinite variety of days and nights--an infinite variety of skies and light and clouds and daybreaks and sunsets--an infinite number and variety of currents and shoals and deep places and quiet spots and dangerous rapids and eddies--and, along its banks, an endless change of hills and mountains and flats and forests and meadows and farms and cities--and--" She paused, breathless.

And then, when he did not speak, but only watched her, she continued: "Don't you see?
Of course, the river never could be what you expect, any more than life could be exactly what you want and dream it will be." "Who in the world are you ?" he asked, wonderingly.

"And what in the world are you doing here in the backwoods ?" Smiling at his puzzled expression, she answered: "I am Auntie Sue.