I dreamed I was a river

I was a river, not a person—just water moving through stone and shadow. I knew the weight of every bend, the cold kiss of spring melt, the way fish slipped past like prayers. I didn’t think in words, but I felt the silence before thunder, the hush when a heron paused above me. And then, someone stood on the bank—me, or someone like me—and cast a line. I didn’t mind. I knew the hook wouldn’t catch me. I was too deep for that. Too old.