The small river here looks clean but maybe it is not. I lack the ability to judge that. I also fail to know what rock would be good to start a fire. And I have no idea how I could possibly survive if I were left to myself, even during the summer, at a river bank, surrounded by lush vegetation, and flowers and berries and just amazing things. Ducks. I mean, ducks.
We threw rocks into the water. Some plunged louder than others. Some were not even rocks; they were very old glass trash, the kind that has been turned back into something that has not been touched by human breath for a very long time. Nature does that. I think one way of turning things kosher again is to bury them for a few days? I am not sure about the exact rule. The planet does forgive all the insanity happening on it. That forgiveness might take many lifetimes. The results might look very different from what we know now, obviously. Evolution is not done. The universe is not done. Nothing is done.
At the edge of the main stream of the small river was some more quiet water. It looked dirtier. The brown color was probably an indication that the river carried a lot of “organic matter”, probably too much of it. In the shallow pond were schools of very small fish. Who knows what kind of fish they were. But they must have been fish. Little intelligent living things, creating beautiful patterns as they reacted to the slightest changes in their world. They obviously also reacted to some pebbles a little boy threw into their universe, creating new pleasant patterns that would then turn back into something beautiful without a reason visible to us. Always in motion, in shallow water, the shadows were more apparent than the fish. And so many questions emerged. About the visibility and perspective and what is what in what span of time and to whom.
We returned to the same place on the river on the following day. The water was now completely still. And the fish and their shadows had left for some other, perhaps more interesting place.