The river bed was a happy community of rocks, all sharp edges made smooth by aeons flow. The colours, the dove greys to rusty browns, were the ink of most placid daydreams. In that water my every hope was a fish, swimming in its own path as if the water tickled it. In that cool flow, beneath the frosted-glass surface, there was time to ponder. Though thus far the odds had been stacked against us, perhaps at last things were about to go our way.
The rock in the brine sit with eternal patience as around them the sea creatures carry on their freeform flash-dance.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.