Some time ago, the river leaned out of the highest of balconies. He had built it himself with care and rage: the whole land belonged to him. In fact, he had conquered it long before he was born. The earth opened gradually and the river descended to the second balcony. His descent unearthed a red colour that was not blood, but rather was flesh exposed to the atmosphere for the first time. Thousands of years of life intertwined with death reduced the river to a clean and soft brush-stroke. Those who stared at him from their old balconies thought him harmless. He admires the best perspective of his work from his site, a work sprinkled with eventual human beings, and he reminds himself that the soil, the rock, the trees, and the sky, all belong to him, just like they always have.The river admires his work from his balcony, and reminds himself that everything belongs to him, just like it always has.