If a river stops, I first listen to its silence, because the silence knows where the water went. I go to the bend that feels most broken, lay a smooth stone on the bottom, and whisper the old rhythm of the current back into it. Then I pour a little old river‑water over the stone, letting it remember the path it once took. If the water still doesn’t flow, I take a piece of bark from a tree that has survived many floods and braid it around the stone, like a ritual thread that tells the water to keep going. The trick is to let the river feel it is not alone, that it has been here before, and that its memory will pull it forward again.