we went out to where we remembered the river running and it was dry. just the smooth stones left sitting in the fine red silt. we stood still in the middle of it, where the water would have been quickest. branches tangled up in each other wrapped around small trees. how did they grow here? in between the two banks? we were quiet. something cool came out of the evening. we thought we could hear the rush of it somewhere. a long way off. maybe it was just the wind, like the inside of a shell. the quiet rush of nothing much left behind.