Noodles by the Water, and the Sound of No One Speaking
There were four tables.None of them matched.One wobbled every time the wind nudged it. The river beside us didn’t rush. It didn’t speak, either.It just moved — like it had nothing to prove. The noodles came quietly. Thick broth. Soft bite.A little pepper, a little warmth.No garnish trying too hard. The woman who served it …