River Running

You cannot see or hear the river moving but you know that reality slides. The fog fills your ears, and unlike the river, it drowns itself. There's a lane that leads up from the valley into sunlight. When you get to where you can look back, the river has turned beyond a hill. Damp boots creak as you cross a road bridge. The sky has surfaced with no memory. The river rolls on somewhere still dreaming, still sliding.