I love coming here. No matter what else I may have to contend with, here it is different. There is calm. There is repose. The tumult of the world gives over to the kiss of the sun, a wafting breeze, the green scent of new-budded life and the soft susurrus of the water against the muddy banks.
I have come back to this place every year for longer than I can recall. I am drawn here with a melancholy sense of longing for that which can never be again. While I no longer recall which of the mossy rocks it was I struck my head against, I never forget the peace I felt in dying here so very long ago.