If you float that river down to the sea, you will know long days of peaceful drifting, but also rocks and rage, oh so bone-soaked.
You will be thrown from the craft, clinging -- trying to get back on to right your raft. You will find yourself in an endless sea -- connected to all others.
From one thousand mountains, birds have vanished. Over ten-thousand paths, not one footprint. A lone boat, an old man in coarse cloak and hat: Just he, fishing in the cold, river snow.