Cleo’s River Picture

Cleo pressed one paw into the sand and made a bird with a very long tail.

She sat on a sandy bar beside the broad river, where the water slid past with a quiet shhhh. A footpath followed the bank nearby. It was the path Arlo used when he came to visit. Cleo wanted to leave him a picture-message. She drew two little feet beneath the bird and a round berry beside it. In their picture-talk, a bird meant, “Come sit with me.” The berry meant, “I saved you a snack.”

Cleo stepped back to admire her work. The bird’s tail curled like a ribbon. “There you are,” she said. “I hope Arlo sees you.” She knew Arlo would be along the footpath after his morning swim. He always looked toward the sandbar as he walked. Cleo settled near the path, where she could watch for him without standing in the drawing.

A brown leaf sailed past. Then a little stick spun in a slow circle and continued downstream. Cleo watched the river’s edge. It had been low when she arrived, leaving a wide stretch of damp, smooth sand. Now the water crept a little farther up the bar. It was not rushing, but the river level could rise and fall, and the water was rising now.

Cleo hurried to the edge of the sandbar. “Arlo!” she called, though he was nowhere on the path yet. She glanced back at her bird. A thin tongue of water slipped over its long tail. The berry blurred. Cleo’s ears tipped forward. She had made the picture carefully, and Arlo had not even seen it. The water spread across the sand, washing away the marks one by one. Cleo watched the last bit of the bird disappear. Then she looked toward the path and wondered how she could send her message somewhere the river could not reach.

Cleo padded back from the water. The sandbar was still wide, but the river now lapped where her picture had been. She did not want to make the same drawing in the same place and watch it vanish again. She looked along the bank, searching for a spot above the waterline.

Near the footpath lay a broad, flat rock. It sat higher than the river’s edge, with a dry top and a smooth face. Cleo touched it with one paw. “You might do,” she said. She found a little patch of damp mud beside the path and dipped one claw into it. Carefully, she drew a bird on the rock. First came a round body, then a beak, two feet, and the very long tail. She added a berry beside it.

Cleo heard paws on the path. Arlo came around the bend, his striped tail swaying behind him. “Cleo!” he called. “I was looking for you.”

“Look here!” Cleo said. She stood beside the rock and pointed with her muddy paw. Arlo leaned close. His eyes moved from the bird to the berry, and a smile spread across his face.

“You saved me a berry?” he asked.

Cleo nodded. “The river took my first picture. It reached right over the sand.”

Arlo looked at the water, then back at the rock. “This one is high and dry.” He found a bit of damp mud of his own. Beside Cleo’s bird, he drew a round sun with short rays all around it.

Cleo studied the picture. “What does your sun say?”

“It says, ‘I’m glad you saved me a place,’” Arlo answered. “And it says I’m glad you’re here.”

Cleo’s whiskers lifted. The river could rise over the sand and carry a picture away. But it could not reach this rock. She and Arlo sat together beside their message, with the bird and sun side by side above the water.

Cleo and Arlo stayed by the rock as the river moved below them. The water brushed the bank, then eased back a little, leaving the sand dark and smooth. A small ripple curled around a pebble. Another followed, then another, each one making a quiet sound against the shore.

Arlo opened the little berry pouch he had brought along. He had two berries tucked inside. “One for the picture,” he said, “and one for the artist.” He placed a berry between them. Cleo laughed. “Then we should share both.” They took turns nibbling, careful not to smudge the muddy bird or the sun.

The footpath grew still. No more paws came around the bend, and no one hurried past. Cleo leaned against the warm side of the rock. Arlo sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. They watched a leaf drift by, turning slowly in the current. It slipped around a bend and disappeared, while the rock stayed firm above the waterline.

Cleo traced the air just above the bird’s long tail, without touching it. “I thought the river had taken my message away,” she said.

“It took the sand picture,” said Arlo. “But your idea found a higher place.”

Cleo looked at the bird and the sun. Her picture had started as a way to invite a friend. Now it held Arlo’s answer, too. She felt glad that she had tried again, and gladder still that he had come.

The broad river kept on traveling past the bank. Its level shifted gently, and the water carried leaves and little ripples along. Cleo and Arlo walked together up the nearby footpath, then paused to look back. The bluebird and sun stayed side by side on the rock, safe above the river as it murmured through the evening. When the first sleepy yawn came, they headed home beneath the quiet trees.