The dog enjoys his evening walk, a white tail in tall grass. Beavers knit their homes along the edges. Water widens in the curves, slows down. I want to age like this river. Let the clay that surrounds me erode without judgement. Become so beautiful that no one will feel a need to ask about my origins. And every night, I’ll look up and watch clouds temper their softness in the glow of a day’s final light. But for now, the dog barks and turns towards home. In the dimness, the river becomes unseen. A voice that whispers beside us.
Jenny Wong is a writer, traveler, and occasional business analyst. Her favorite places to wander are Tokyo alleys, Singapore hawker centers, and Parisian cemeteries. Find Jenny on Twitter @jenwithwords.