A lone willow bends by the silent river, its branches tracing secrets on the water’s surface. An old fisherman rows slowly, his net cast toward the fading sun. He remembers a promise made beneath these very branches—a vow carried away by the spring floods. Now autumn arrives, painting the reeds in gold and rust. The wind hums an ancient tune, and for a moment, the whispers among the leaves sound like a long-lost name. He smiles, pulling his net empty yet full of memories, as the moon rises to...
