The Drifter of Distant Horizons

The autumn wind stirred, carrying the damp essence of the southern river town's streets. The honking calls of geese migrating south echoed in the twilight, stretching the silence of the landscape. At the riverside teahouse, oil lamps were already lit, their warm orange glow reflecting on the water and rippling away with the waves.
She stood at the center of the arched bridge, her figure slender, her light green garment swaying gently in the breeze. Beneath the bridge, the river flowed slowly, mirroring the old embroidered parasol in her hand. The delicate patterns on the parasol hinted at a labor of love from years past, while her downcast gaze seemed lost in memories.