I do not see the river. Or hear it. Or smell it.
It is dark where I am, the ground hard and scrabbly under foot, the sky blanked by cloud. I do not even know which direction to walk in. I don’t know how to go. So I sit.
I long for the Ferryman, but do not call out for him, have no voice for calling. I long for the Ferryman and find a gift in my hand, a small river rock, smooth and cool. I fold my fingers over it. I am flooded with courage.
I will sit and learn whatever it is this darkness will teach me.