It was not a sudden disappearance; it was a slow, inevitable fading—like a song fading into the background of a crowded room. First, the river’s spring swell ebbed, leaving sandbars where fish once darted. Then the summer flood that used to burst the banks and leave the valley fertile turned to a gentle trickle that barely brushed the stones. The old wooden bridge, once splashed by a torrent of foam, now stood over a reflective ribbon of water that seemed more mirror than river.