Written for Dreamers Young and Old. A magical river flowing backward through time helps a weary artist rediscover joy, showing that happiness shapes the present, not just the past.
In a quiet valley, hidden far away from the noisy world, there flowed a river like no other. Its waters sparkled in soft silver ribbons under the moonlight, and it made no sound, not even the faintest ripple. But the strangest thing about this river was how it flowed—not forward like other rivers, but backward, winding gently toward the past.
No one knew how it began or where it ended. The only thing travelers agreed on was this: if you stepped into its quiet current, the river would carry you to moments of happiness you had almost forgotten. It was a place where time folded itself like a warm blanket, soft and still.
One evening, a tired artist named Jackeline arrived at the edge of the valley. Her heart had grown heavy over the years, and her hands, which used to paint the world with bright colors, now felt empty and still. She had heard whispers about the river—a river that could take her back to the days when joy felt simple and life was full of light.
Standing at the water’s edge was a kind old ferryman named Taren. His face was weathered, and his voice was calm, like the rustling of leaves before a storm.
“Do you wish to travel the River of Time?” he asked her.
Jackeline nodded, though she wasn’t sure what she was hoping to find.
Taren dipped his oar into the water and guided a small wooden boat to the shore. “The river will take you to the moments that brought you peace and joy,” he said. “But remember: they are only memories. You mustn’t linger too long, or you may lose your way.”
Jackeline stepped into the boat, and as Taren pushed it off the shore, the river’s gentle current began to carry her backward.
At first, the river’s banks were cloaked in mist. Then, as the boat drifted farther, the mist parted, and Jackeline found herself somewhere she had not been in many, many years.
She was a little girl again, standing on a quiet beach just as the sun was rising. The waves tickled her toes, and the air smelled of salt and promise. In her hands was a paintbrush, her very first, and she was painting the sunrise on a scrap of paper. The colors came alive—golden yellows, soft pinks, deep purples. She felt a joy so pure, she could almost hear it humming in her chest.
But as she reached out to touch her younger self’s painting, the scene faded like morning fog. She was back in the boat, the river pulling her gently onward.
The boat carried her to another memory. This time, she was sitting in a sunlit garden with her mother. They were surrounded by flowers that swayed lazily in the breeze, their colors so bright they almost glowed. Her mother was laughing, her voice warm like a summer afternoon, and Jackeline could feel the deep comfort of being loved.
Tears welled in her eyes. “I miss this,” she whispered to herself.
But the river did not stop for long. Just as before, the memory dissolved into the mist, and Jackeline found herself in the boat once more.
Memory after memory came and went. A picnic with friends by a sparkling lake. A night spent dancing under a sky full of stars. The first time she sold one of her paintings, her heart bursting with pride.
Each memory was beautiful, but each one slipped away before she could hold onto it.
After a while, Jackeline began to feel tired. The river was kind, but it felt endless, as though it would carry her forever.
It was then that she saw another boat drifting nearby. In it sat a young man named Kian, his eyes filled with longing.
“How long have you been here?” Jackeline asked.
“I don’t know,” Kian said softly. “I found the river years ago, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I keep waiting for one of these memories to be enough.”
His words hung in the air like a question. Jackeline felt a shiver run through her. Was she doing the same thing—chasing moments that could never return?
As they drifted side by side, the river seemed to listen. It showed them both something new—not a memory, but a truth. They saw the moments they had cherished, not as fragile treasures lost to time, but as seeds planted deep within their hearts.
The joy they had felt in the past had not disappeared—it had shaped who they were, like the roots of a strong tree hidden beneath the soil. The river had brought them here not to cling to the past, but to remind them that joy could still grow in the present.
With this new understanding, Jackeline looked at Kian and smiled. “I think it’s time for me to go back.”
Kian hesitated, but then he smiled too. “Maybe it’s time for me to try as well.”
When Jackeline stepped out of the boat, Taren was waiting. He helped her back onto the shore, his kind eyes full of quiet pride.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.
“Yes,” Jackeline said. “And so much more.”
That night, under the same moonlight that kissed the river, Jackeline picked up her paintbrush for the first time in years. Her strokes were slow and sure, filled with the colors of all the moments she had seen.
She painted the river itself—not as a place to hold onto the past, but as a reminder that joy flows through life like water, sometimes rushing, sometimes quiet, but always there if you listen.
And as Jackeline worked, she felt peace settle around her like a soft, warm blanket.
Also Read: The Library of Dreams