Riverside, While It's Still Mist

In some film, there was a morning when mist hung over a riverside. Two sets of footprints ran side by side along the gravel path, and between the steps spread the sound of water breaking. There was no dialogue. So all the more clearly, you could hear the person behind adjusting their steps to the shoulder of the one in front. This morning, thinking of that scene, I stood between the riverside and the forest path. The forest path had a reassuring way of hiding the view with its trees, while the riverside, where everything was in plain sight, felt unsettling. And yet I turned my steps toward the river. Knowing there was no one to match my steps to, it seemed the river, its mist not yet lifted, was waiting for me like that scene.