The Fool crunches slowly through leaves along a calm river.
The Sun strokes The Fool’s cheek and turns her gaze.
To her right, a white birch tree offers her a gnarled limb.
She eases her weight on her new walking stick.
A half-buried coin glints through clear, gentle water.
The Fool’s boots cling to slippery rocks.
The Sun’s reflection dazzles her eyes.
Her hand darts through fish.
The coin glitters, showing smooth places worn away by many thumbs.
The Fool works the coin into a deep corner of her pack.
She stoops again, her hands a cup.
Refreshed and almost-satisfied, The Fool turns for home.
The Fool’s journey takes a long time.
The Moon places a cool palm on The Fool’s cheek and turns her eyes to the left.
Another traveler sleeps sitting at the base of a weeping willow.
The Fool eases his fine sword
out
of
its
hilt,
remorseless.