The Chapel on the Embankment

Last city evening. I walked the embankment until I found the little chapel that stands with its golden dome against the black water, lit like something someone forgot to blow out. The Dnipro moved past it the way rivers move past everything, hugely and without comment.

Tomorrow I go north, early, with a dosimeter I rented and a silence I have been saving. I have wanted to make this trip since before I could articulate why. The chapel seemed like the right thing to look at the evening before.

I did not pray, not being equipped. I stood, which the chapel accepted. Rivers and chapels are generous that way: presence suffices.