The Story
The Swan Who Wrote on the Water.
On a still pond at the edge of the wood there lived a white swan, and she was the quietest and most graceful of all the birds.
The ducks splashed and quacked. The geese honked and hurried. But the swan moved without a sound, and where she swam, a soft silver line followed her over the dark water, curving as she curved.
One evening a child sat by the pond and watched her. The swan bent her long neck one way to look at the setting sun, then the other way to look at the rising moon — and her neck made a shape like a path that winds twice.
"You are writing!" whispered the child.
The swan glided close, and her silver trail curved behind her on the water, winding one way, then the other, hissing softly where the ripples kissed the reeds: sss, sss.
"That is my letter," said the swan — or the wind, or the water, the child was never sure. "I write it all evening, and the pond erases it by morning, and that is why it stays beautiful."
The child went home and wrote it on paper, where it stayed: the swan’s own winding letter, with her soft voice inside it.