The Saho River flows quietly through the city of Nara. The cherry blossoms of spring are long gone now, and the banks are wrapped in deep green.

The water runs from somewhere far upstream and disappears somewhere far downstream. It began as rain on a distant mountain, seeped into the earth, crossed fields and forests, and will one day reach the sea. We draw lines to say where things begin and end — but the water itself simply flows, one unbroken thread.

Perhaps the moments of our lives work the same way, I thought, watching the surface of the river.