Once there was a river. Cold and gentle and full of dark shadows. She was as blue as the sky above her, and had a heart large enough to drown all of the world’s grief. Which, of course, was why they called her Sokanasini.
We walked, my best friend and I. We walked back thirty odd years retracing the once familiar, well-trodden path. Looking for her – our Sokanasini. The one who had so willingly accepted all our sorrows back then. In exchange of narrow pink bunches of wildflowers, and rounded pebbles that glinted in the sun.
But she was nowhere to be found.
Now there are just ghosts. Of what once was. Memories – brown, brittle. Drawing their last breath.
Yet, what was it that pulled wetly at my feet from under it all?
She was. Once.