A mist had enveloped the wood, and from the window of the highest tower I found myself standing, gazing, being pulled out to the nightly fog, and from my body I left.

Once again I found myself at the river, barefoot and dressed in my sleeping-gown between the high trees, and once again, from the river came a song. It rose, composed of many distinguishable voices, and there, floating down the river came the long boats, the lanterns that hung glowing as stars, and the people with the cloaks all singing, singing beautifully.

The moonlight, it shone, sparkling magic about the water, and the boats traveled, smooth as silk, as if hovering above the radiant glass sheen of river blue. The mist shrouded thick, but as dancing vapor it waded in and out, and following down the river I pursued the white boats and the chorus of the cloaked people. My feet padded amongst the leaves and molds of the forest’s foot, and over roots and through the trees I walked along side and watched, and listened, in wonder.

Through much passing time, I followed the white boats. I followed them far into the night. I never tired of their song, that choir of deep poem and tune. When the river opened into the mouth, and poured out into the sea, I stood by and watched, hugging the willow that crept far from the water’s edge, and whispered a soft ‘goodbye’ as the white boats drifted out and away into the sinking full moon. Into the sea they glided, and the mist then came and swept through, erasing them from all sight. I stood hugging the willow long, full of yearning, and as I rested my cheek against the bark I still heard the song, reverberating within me. I sensed that it was over, and then, I went.

Back in the tower, my body’s rigidity falling, I gasped, a tear rolling down from my eye, and passing over my lips.

Through the following weeks, I would dream of the white boats, waiting, yearning, for the approaching full moon, and the mist to come again.