My country seemed to exist clinging to the strips of land spared by a river. In the summer it was a fairly cool place, in the winter it was cold and, in the nearby mountains, it snowed a lot. The great stream that broke it in half had an infinity of branches that crossed it far and wide like a spider’s web. Small streams that, at night, glowed in the dark like wet threads. In the darkness, wherever you walked, the roar of the river seemed to follow you. The numerous bridges and bridges dictated a kind of rhythm and placed pauses within that river landscape. In fact, people were forced to stop and confront the water.
[Banana Yoshimoto – The Dress of feathers]
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