(Laos)
The pencil was unusually calm today.
It didn’t rush.
It just glided—like the Mekong itself.
Slow lines became a river,
soft curves became boats,
and the air on my page felt warm and sleepy.
Vientiane unfolded gently—
temples peeking through palm trees,
and saffron-robed monks walking in single file,
their silence louder than bells.
Then my pencil paused,
and whispered something I never knew:
Laos is the “Land of a Million Elephants.”
I smiled and added one—
a tiny one, balancing on a cloud,
its trunk curling like a prayer.
When I signed my name,
the river shimmered back,
as if it too was smiling.
Maybe peace has a sound after all—
the quiet scratch of a pencil across a dreaming page.
✨ If your pencil floated down a river, what would it bring back?
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