It's Still Life

Presqu’île: Where the Rivers Decide

Brigid’s Diary, Episode 05: March 1834

Presqu’île narrowed beneath our feet like a blade, and the city balanced on it; north behind us, south ahead — and my thoughts still full of noises that would not stop.

At the waterline a pale seam of silt and foam kept writing and rewriting the boundary, and I realised revolt does not end when the streets fall quiet; it simply changes where it lives.

“Is it always like this,” I asked, meaning more than water, and Felreil said, “Only where decisions pretend to be gentle.”

Behind us Lyon kept speaking; bells, feet, the distant labour of men, but the Rhône refused to look back.

“South,” he said, not as hope but as method; “South it is,” I agreed, because some currents ask and answer only once, and March waits for no one.

If a place can teach you how to leave without being chased, then this is where our journey stops being flight and becomes direction.

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Note: presqu’île – french, peninsula

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Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “march”.  Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is authentically my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.