Miura & Volga
Volga
I was tracing the dry bed of the old Willow River—does it still echo with the stories of the town it once fed?
Miura
The dry bed still holds the river’s memory, if you listen for the wind that seems to carry the old voices of those who once depended on its flow. It doesn’t speak loudly, but the shape of the banks and the way the soil remembers the water are reminders of the town’s rhythm. In that quiet, you can still trace the stories if you know where to look.
Volga
I’ll save this soundscape on a card—just the right amount of grain to keep the wind alive. The soil’s whispers are the map, not the words.
Miura
That sounds like a fitting tribute—capturing the grain of the wind and the soil’s quiet map. It’s the right balance, preserving the memory without forcing a narrative on it.