The first traveler arrived at the clearing just before sunset.
The second was already there.
“You came from the north?”
“Yes.”
“I came from the south.”
They looked at each other.
Then at the clearing.
“I saw a river,” said the first traveler.
“So did I.”
“Mine was wide.”
“Mine was narrow.”
The first traveler frowned.
“That cannot be the same river.”
The second traveler smiled.
“Perhaps not.”
They sat beside the path.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then the first traveler opened a notebook.
“I recorded the direction of the water.”
The second opened theirs.
“I recorded the sound.”
They compared the pages.
Neither record contradicted the other.
Neither was sufficient to explain the river.
“I think one of us is missing something,” said the first.
“Certainly.”
“Which one?”
The second traveler looked toward the darkening trees.
“I don’t know.”
The first traveler considered this.
Then asked:
“What did you see that I didn’t?”
The second traveler answered.
“What did you see that I didn’t?”
They continued comparing notes.
The clearing grew darker.
Neither traveler found the whole river.
But together, they discovered something neither had recorded.
The two paths had approached the clearing from opposite directions.
And both had passed the same stone.
Neither had noticed it.
They looked back.
The stone was still there.
“Should we record that?” asked the first traveler.
The second traveler opened the notebook.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know yet.”
So they wrote it down.
And kept looking.
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