The river slips away languid beneath the punt. Clare College stands sentinel. Oh, I belong here where Bertrand Russell and Wordsworth once lazed.
“We never step in the same river twice,” I declare grandly.
She yawns and nods. “Heraclitus.” Then adds, “Trying not to step into the river is best.”
The pole sticks. In a moment I will have to choose: let go; or hang on, balancing atop while she and the boat drift away. But, with a heave, it pulls loose. I stagger, rocking the punt. She giggles.
This is not how it was supposed to be.