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 speaks to the tree as if it were an old friend, sharing tales of storms weathered and seasons passed. Children sometimes come to hear his stories, their laughter blending with the rustling leaves. He tells them of silver fish that glow like moonlight, and of the river’s song that changes with the tide. They listen wide-eyed, for...
