Friday, December 5, 2008
It is morning and fingers of light shine down on the river, piercing their way through the cloud that has bulked to fill one side of the sky. Ripples crinkle the water as an asian boy crouches in the end of a small fishing boat, awkwardly steering his vessel with a thin stalk of bamboo. The bow of his boat points toward where a huge ball of yellow white sun has finally outwitted the clouds and risen beyond their cumulus ways. He is alone in this magical realm, cradling the peace and the quiet as though it has been entrusted to him for the day. He paddles on through the water. By the time the sun is high in the sky he will have reached the market. This peace and quiet will be a thing of his past. He begins to miss it even before it has gone.