_by the river she danced and danced_ Each moment is a mystery, a piece of crumpled paper folded in on itself, holding one word that is a secret. If you ask me what the word is, I tell you it is different every time. It could be “cold,” “wet,” “shiny,” “morning.” Or maybe it is always one word. Time. Just this. One moment. Now. A first kiss along the riverbank. You remember the softness of it. But more, how the world becomes first fuzzy and then it’s clear again .. sunlight kissing a puddle. Like that. The moment when one mystery becomes another.