Masked Native

 

They were at the water’s edge.

He had something in his hand, and too late, she saw it fall.

It floated on the surface for a while,

the water gently washing over the cover,

mottled brown and gold.

Bound with a silk ribbon.

 

‘It’s not too late,’ she said. ‘I can maybe reach out and save it’.

 

She stepped forward.

To stop it floating further away.

The boy watched, his silence defeating her.

 

Gradually, the book slipped below the surface,

gently down as they watched.

She noticed how clear the water was,

and how shallow too.

Perhaps she could still rescue the precious book,

the story she so loved,

but it was already out of reach.

 

Illuminated below the surface,

the book shone brightly in the sunlight,

but its purpose achieved,

it slowly disappeared.

Dissolving into the glistening pebbles of the river bed.