The island, some fallen, dry and colourful leaves, chestnuts, but the grass is still green. A girl, an orange bike and a dog, speckled, not quite a dalmatian. Thirsty, it's been a long run for them, too. Breathing in a dappled, bright scene.



I see her again the following day. She has the bike but I cannot see the dog around. This time, we are in a busy street, I wait for the bus impatiently, thinking I am late for a three o'clock meeting. I don't even know where I'm going or which bus to take.



              She needn't tell me to relax. I watch her. Her hands like water, smooth, then ripples, then swirls, then ripples and smooth again. I see the river through some hazy dream, the fountain under the shady trees, the fallen leaves in the water, and I know that if I walk on, I'll find that the western bank of the river is always inconceivably bright, blindening and scorching, even with the sun setting, except for the view of the water, soothing, smooth, breathtaking ripples and all.



     "you turn on at the bend in the road"