The Bend That Winked Back — From the rim above the big river bend, Quill stacked seven flat pebbles and waited for the clouds to line up with his shadow. Read the full story →
From the rim above the big river bend, Quill stacked seven flat pebbles and waited for the clouds to line up with his shadow. He had promised himself he would not leave until one cloud looked exactly like a lizard wearing a hat. The canyon smelled of hot dust and sun-baked stone, and far below, the river slid around the butte with a soft, shiny hush.
The waiting took forever in the best and worst way. A raven croaked once, as if saying, “Not yet.” Quill chewed a blade of dry grass and counted the stripes in the cliffs. Then a tiny voice from nowhere said, “Nice hat.” Quill looked up. No lizard. No person. Only the curved canyon wall, holding his words and tossing them back with extra cheek.
So Quill whispered, “Cloud lizard, report for duty.” The echo whispered it too, but wobblier. At last, a long cloud pinched at one end, puffed at the other, and drifted into a perfect hat-wearing lizard. Quill bowed to the canyon; the canyon bowed back in sound. Next time you spot that looping river, listen carefully—maybe the bend is still practicing its “nice hat.”
