Rhine Falls, Switzerland

I asked about the Rock.
The man at the dock shook his head.
“Nein.” His finger moved side to side,
as if the river itself were refusing.

“No boat docked at the Rock that day. Dangerous. But the boatman went close to the edge.”

So I walked.
Up the path.
To the overlook.
To the edge.

The roar never faded. It felt older than language, louder than thought.

Below, the rock stood unmoved,
its summit stairs hanging silent.
Mist beaded on my wristwatch.

I lifted my camera. I zoomed in.

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