For every person that lives, has lived and will live in Perth, this river is the most powerful source of all the small moments, the hitotoki, that each one of us experiences. (A sweeping statement, but I suspect it might be true…)

This river is one of those few constants in life - like the sky above your city or the coast you drive by or maybe just the square of view framed by one’s second-storey window - one of those images that are just granted us. Part of the ordinary, ceaseless stream of the everyday. I know about the river, I know it is there and I know it to be beautiful. Everyone does… Without seeking, without needing, without even really seeing.

Except, of course, whenever the river decides to catch us.

I was en route somewhere between my class and my car, looked up and stopped. Stood.

It’s not surprising to me, anymore, whenever this happens: the river is beautiful, and for one, perfect moment, this is the only thing that counts. The rowers were gliding silently out from shore, the lights on the horizon drawing me out with them.

There is nothing profound in any of this, of course - no epiphanies, no enlightenment, nothing befalls me, really, but a smile and a re-engagement with the ticking of time. I went on my way, like all of us do, in this city with the beautiful river.

Until I pause, again.