After heavy rain, the first thing most people notice isn't the river.
It's the foam.
White.
Restless.
Impossible to ignore.
For a while, it looks like it owns the current.
You could spend the whole afternoon watching it rush past and never realize it isn't actually taking the river anywhere.
The water is.
Attention has a way of floating to the surface.
The loudest voice.
The fastest success.
The strongest opinion.
The moment everyone seems to be looking in the same direction.
Rivers are patient.
They don't argue with the foam.
They simply keep moving.
Some lives leave echoes.
Others leave water.
One is remembered because it was impossible to ignore.
The other because someone, somewhere, is still living because it passed that way.
By evening, the river is still there.
If something you've read here ever quietly kept you afloat, that's the river talking, not the foam.
