Is there anything like a river?

I miss the summer, the wild blackberries that grow along the bank. I miss the river, noting the silence of its absence; the nearly imperceptible sound of its passing; sleeping with the windows open.

It is only silence, I tell myself, nothing more.


A lost soul might believe that a winding road is like a river.

The wind might resemble it, unseen, perhaps in some places along the valley, moving just above the river.

.