Driving through the desert, we think of the children deciding to lie down for a rest, holding hands. We wonder at their parents. We are driving to the river, cool and relaxed, squinting in the early sun despite our dark glasses. We want to touch the river, maybe wade there, lie down in the cool water and let ourselves be carried down river. We want to echo our voices against the canyon walls. We think of the children, and their parents, setting out across the wide desert, still cool and dripping from crossing the river. Sheep graze on the other side as we sit in the shade of the canyon, cool from the river though the day’s already burning and somewhere the children are walking, holding hands, thinking of the river, their parents and home as they look across the desert and seem to see a river quivering the air like a dream. We are driving, cool and refreshed and talking of our plans for when we get home from the desert; we are listening to music or news of what’s happened far away but we’re thinking of the river and the canyon, and of the children walking slowly, holding each other across the wide desert, alone.