A lone willow bends by the silent river, its branches tracing secrets on the water’s surface. An old fisherman sits beneath it, mending his net with gnarled hands. He hums a tune forgotten by time, each note carried away by the gentle breeze. Children often come to hear his stories of drowned cities and river spirits. Their eyes widen as he speaks of silver fish that grant wishes and moonlit dances on the waves. But today, he simply smiles, pointing to a leaf floating downstream. “See how it ...
