"Bits of ice trailed in its waters, children of the frosted plains cast into its constant flow to dabble its surface with their toes and, drifting to the ocean, soon grow old. Shifting forever from past to future, waters running, ripples fading, ice growing from thin and fragile splinters of frost, and the first that could be seen was a swift, black river, and the first that could be heard was the roar of the wind."
Some remained outside the flow of time, growing old beside it's banks, or finding themselves young beside it's ancient end. Bypassing time, it was as if they lived forever. The ghostly boy trapped as a child, the thoughtful writer always chained to her imagination, and the ethereal girl, chasing love, older than she has lived.
(A quick sketch of a long running theme)