There is a park beside a river crowded with people and everything seems to happen there. People get married, babies take their first steps, lovers declare all accompanied by the tranquil river that seems to slow itself down as it passes the crowds of happy people enjoying its splendor. It really is a beautiful river. Artists frequent the shores and make glorious triumphs of watercolors and oils; if you are lucky you could be found atop an easel accompanying the celebrity of the cool current that basks in the attention and stretches out wide for more places to be seen and smiled upon.

            A beautiful girl walks by and is ignored by the old man concentrating hard on the many depths of blue found in a single pool of water that has found its way between some rocks and sand. A little minnow slides and dips into his view.

            “Perfection,” he mumbles to himself. A wave splashes and scares away the colors and hits him on the nose. The old man looks up to find young lovers jumping from the sand into the deep area, a large opening where the rapids cease and the rocks become smooth and low. All of the artists look up from their work to evaluate the disturbance, mothers look up from their giggling babies, children peek around the trees to catch a glimpse of the kissing couple, who dunk under the surface and come back up screaming. She jumps on his back and laughs as they both fall back below. When they return, catching their breath, the girl whispers something into his ear and he says something back. Everyone wonders what is being said, everyone has their own ideas.

            The couple dances with their splashes; they kiss more and touch each other as playfully as the children on the shore did their friendly butterfly.

            Then silence. The boy says something and leaves. The girl remains in the water, watching him walk away until he disappears into the trees of the park. She tickles her fingers with drips picked from the ripples; she hums to herself and remains where she is, in a state that deserves to be surrounded by cold water that only wants to touch you and speed away. She stays there alone, waiting. Everyone holds their breath to see what will happen, to see what the girl alone in the river will do next.

            She cools her forehead with her wet hand and smiles at the little girl who stands on a rock watching her. She walks to the other side of the river and gets out, walking towards the town on the other side and disappearing across the street.

            The old man looks back down into his pool that is now the color of romance and sadness and hidden whispers; surely if he waits something else will pass by.