Styx

This is the river you have heard so much about. The one your ancestors traveled toward. On your approach you smell its dark scent and hear its current passing over the stones. You look to see if there is another way. A pass through the mountains. A bridge downstream. Nothing. On the bank you find no trace of others. No footprints. No dragonflies. No tortoises. You stand for a while alone. From afar the outline of a boat approaches. A lone figure tall in its stern. As he draws near, you see the boatman is wearing a yellow hat. A colorful vest. His eyes are bright and blue. He laughs and extends a hand. He has no torch. No solemn songs to sing. You expected fog. A mist of rain. But it's like most other days. No clouds to drape over the dawn. He motions for you to sit but you indicate you prefer to stand. Soon you are halfway to the other side. You feel you've been here before. Crossing these same waters. You turn and look back. What you thought was a river is really your last sweet breath. This too you must leave behind.