A Meeting at a Quiet Pool

They came from upstream, I from down, both having broken loose for a time from the bonds that held us.
Theirs of cellulose, and mine too, in a way, tho’ paperwork has a lot less to do with paper these days.
We met at a quiet pool between the cascades, a brief respite from the churning we had left and to which we would soon return.
I sat on a cool rock and watched the remnants of autumn circulate in the gyre, still yoked, but bound by a lighter, easier yoke than the tumult they had known. 
First held by bonds of fiber and then of water, dismissed only when their gentle captor chose to yield - to a breath of wind, a drop of rain, a wavelet, or to no discernible force at all.  
And I, too, held captive by this quiet pool between the cascades, delayed my return to the clamor and chaos I had so recently left behind.
One, and then another, was discharged to continue its tumultuous journey downstream.   
And I waited - for a breath of wind, a drop of rain, a wavelet, some indiscernible force - to signal to me it was time to leave this quiet pool behind.
They exited downstream.  And I?  I continued up, for though they had no choice but to resubmit to the bonds that held them, I was not yet ready.
We met at a quiet pool between the cascades, a brief respite from the churning we had left and to which we would soon return.