Once upon a time…

I am old, and my bones remember when the river forgot its banks. In those days we tied blue twine to our doors, a custom called River-Briding, to ask water to pass by like a guest. One dawn the twine snapped everywhere at once, and the world turned to mirrors.

I had a hunger to know where the road went when roads vanished. I set a bread crust in a bowl and watched which way it drifted. It chose east, so I pushed a washtub into the shining plain and climbed in. Currents whispered names. I followed.

I saw barn roofs like islands and trees with fish in their arms. By noon a black ox swam beside me. Folks said such an ox carried dead letters. It carried me instead, to the church steeple where a bell rang on its own. The ring matched my heartbeat. I counted seven and leapt, landing inside with a girl I once loved, now old too, guarding a lantern that did not burn down.

We waited, told each other the places water once walked in dreams. When the lantern dimmed, the river set us down in our street, and the twine held. Curiosity had led me away, and brought me home wider.