Once Upon a River

by Diane Setterfield

A river is a river, whatever the season.

for on a summer day winter always seems like something you have dreamt or heard spoken of and not a thing you have lived.

It was better to tell such stories close to the river than in a drawing room. Words accumulate indoors, trapped by walls and ceilings. The weight of what has been said can lie heavily on what might yet be said and suffocate it. By the river the air carries the story on a journey: one sentence drifts away and makes room for the next.