The river flows like time, carving paths through memories, whispering secrets of the land that clothed it through the ages. In its waters, all is moving, a dance of reflections, where the sky kisses the surface, yet longing never stays.

I watch, I listen, as the current tells stories— tales of unity and parting, of joy mingled with sorrow, of fish swimming deep, of willows weeping on the shore. Oh, to be the river, to embrace the wanderer, with every bend a new beginning, a journey both sacred and fierce.

• Pablo Neruda