The reeds are talking whispers along the path. They speak of creatures in the blue sky and the movement of stars. Perhaps they also talk of us, our slow-gait, how we spoil the land.

Reeds rustle and pretend to be the sea. Reeds are woven into baskets and roofs. Baskets and roofs do not rustle or pretend to be waves. They are staid creatures, not prone to flights of fancy.

Reeds like rivers but do rivers like reeds? Reeds bend and speak like rivers but reeds are rooted and rivers are not.

On the walk are many reeds so many they perhaps match the numbers of people who have left Syria and gone elsewhere but of course there is no resemblance between these reeds and the Syrian refugees.
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