The River’s Edge in May

I followed the river as it ran bright and full through the May countryside, its banks thick with reeds and wildflowers. Everything shimmered—sunlight on water, dragonflies in mid-air, even the smooth stones beneath the surface.

I sat on a large rock, letting my toes dip into the cold stream. Time faded.

A fisherman further down the bank called out. “You waiting for a catch?”

“No net,” I replied, smiling.

“Best kind,” he said, returning the smile. “The river gives more when you take nothing from it.”

The water moved on, never pausing, never rushing. No force, no struggle – just flow. And in that quiet, so did I.