You stand there at the edge, where the water slows down its song. A soft breath against the stone.
Look down now. The boat, tethered here, floating in silence. It holds just enough space for you, to drift with the tide’s gentle pull.
No one moves to wake it up. Only this perfect hush of mud and wood, and the cool slate-gray water below.
You watch the pebbles falling softly into the surface mist. Each one a memory, caught in motion. A slow dance across nothing at all.
The rowboat stands still. It waits for something unseen— a breath, or perhaps just enough time to settle it down, to feel complete where its own weight rests on slip-sway.
You think about how much peace it takes to be merely here now. To know the rhythm of the currents is a surrender; they whisper off, away from you.