It reminded him of a NOVA he’d seen with his father about the Amazon and the Atlantic. The waters join in eddies and turbulence and tides, whorls the colors of coffee and of jade meeting and greeting a new arrangement that, miles from shore, seems natural—inevitable even—but in the swirl of first impressions is confused at best and, at worst, a betrayal of the character of the river that has flowed so far and the ocean that has waited so long. So then: old life, meet new life; new life, old life. You two have a lot to talk about.

Right now it’s sandwiched between some shorter sentences. Want to help me make it better? And no, making it shorter doesn’t count. This sentence needs to stay long.