Even the river seems to have taken a coffee break.

I leaned over the railing of an old bridge, watching the slow movement of the muddy waters below. The river carried with it a sense of timelessness, its surface mirroring the unbroken blue of the sky but tinged with earthy hues. A fallen branch jutted out into the current like a forgotten relic, its gnarled form creating ripples that seemed to echo into eternity. On the far bank, eucalyptus trees stood as silent witnesses to countless seasons of droughts and floods. The air was warm but not oppressive; it carried with it a faint scent of dry grass and distant woodsmoke. I felt like I had stumbled into a moment that belonged more to the land than to me—a fragment of time that would persist long after I had moved on.