A man was rowing across a river before sunrise.
The water was quiet enough that every dip of the oar sounded larger than it was.
Halfway across, through the thin morning mist, he saw another boat drifting towards him.
At first, he kept rowing.
Then he noticed it had not changed course.
He called out. No answer.
The boat came closer.
He called out again, sharper this time. Still nothing.
His hands tightened around the oars. There was an entire river around them. Why would someone come straight at him? Why would someone refuse to move?
The boat kept coming.
By the time it struck his, the man was already on his feet, turned, ready with all the words that had been gathering in him.
But the other boat was empty.
Just a wet rope at its bow, trailing in the water.
He stood there a while, looking at it.
Then he sat down.
The empty boat drifted past him and carried on down the river.
He watched until it disappeared into the mist.
After some time, he picked up his oars again.
The sound they made in the water was softer now.