We walk along the wooden pathways of Red Seabeach, breathing China deep. Crimson reeds glow, waving from the wetland like something fabricated. I want to wave back to check they’re real. He and I stand, not speaking. A red-crowned crane swoops and slices the sky, its slender body diving into the scarlet marsh. Is it make believe?
The locals tell us those cranes are rare, it’s incredible we’ve seen one. We’re fortunate, they say, we’re blessed. They’re a symbol, those cranes, their appearances signifying
good luck, fidelity, and longevity. I squeeze his hand, hoping I’ll have no use for
charms.
Sweet one. Timely, too.