Junie’s River of Questions — Each afternoon, when the canyon shadows cooled the stone, Junie dropped flat pebbles into the river and played her new game: ask one question at every bend, then skip a pebble before answering. Read the full story →
Each afternoon, when the canyon shadows cooled the stone, Junie dropped flat pebbles into the river and played her new game: ask one question at every bend, then skip a pebble before answering. The water made a glassy shhh against the rocks. “Where does the river hide its first curve?” she whispered, and her pebble clicked three times.
Until one day, the pebble did not sink. It slid along a narrow silver seam in the current, around one bend, then another, as if the river had accepted the game. Because of that, Junie followed it from ledge to ledge, past pine needles sharp with resin smell. Because of that, every question grew wider: Why did the cliffs look folded? Why did the far peaks seem to listen? Why did the clouds hold still over the gorge?
At last, the seam ended where many river lines braided together below the tallest walls. Junie found no final answer, only the soft roar of water carrying all her questions onward. She laughed, and next time you trace that winding river with your eyes, see if you can guess where her flat pebble clicked three times.
