It's Still Life

Note to my readers: I’m travelling for the next few weeks in Colombia. I’ll be reading with gratitude, even if I can’t reply properly immediately.

El Mohán: the Colombian River Spirit

Time braids itself into the mist and murmur of the Río Magdalena, where women wash laundry in silence and speak of El Mohán only when the current isn’t listening.

The sun dropped low over the wide water, thick with the scent of mud and blooming guava, and Brigid watched dark ruffles — like cat’s paws — rise on the surface without wind.

The crow stiffened on her shoulder.

One by one, the women bundled their damp linens and vanished, glancing back; Brigid felt it too — the weight in the air, the shift of breath, something arriving.

El Mohán emerged slow and amused: wild hair like a waterfall, a beard tangled with riverweed, cigar glowing at the corner of his mouth — part god, part danger, all river.

When Brigid dipped her fingers in, the current didn’t pull away but channeled toward her — and she understood: not every voice is meant to be followed; some only want to be recognised.

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Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “channel”.  Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.