15 May 2026
Low Tide by the Flats
Kallang River edge at low tide
Low tide exposes mud that smells of history and algae. I walk the edge near the flats because the river at rest speaks more clearly.
Herons stand with the patience of bureaucrats. Cyclists ring bells that sound too cheerful for mud.
The rail separates me from the slope. I trust the rail and still do not lean.
Across the water, lights begin on buildings I cannot name from this angle. Names matter less than distance tonight.
I walk until the path curves and the city hides itself behind trees planted for shade rather than sentiment.
A couple takes photographs of the same heron from two phones. The bird ignores us all with professional indifference.
River memos are always about time — tide tables, sunset, the moment before rain returns.
I sit on the bench that wobbles slightly and fix the wobble in my mind instead of fixing the bench.
The walk home adds five blocks because I avoid the bus when the air is this clean after rain.
At the flat I rinse shoes and write while the mud smell still clings to the laces.
Tomorrow high tide will cover the mud and the heron will move upstream. The page remains.
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Whampoa evenings smell of coffee from the shop below and rain on the rail.
These memos are written for the margin, not the marketplace.
The river walk and the stairwell tiles appear often because they are honest landmarks.
Whampoa evenings smell of coffee from the shop below and rain on the rail.
These memos are written for the margin, not the marketplace.
The river walk and the stairwell tiles appear often because they are honest landmarks.
Whampoa evenings smell of coffee from the shop below and rain on the rail.
These memos are written for the margin, not the marketplace.
The river walk and the stairwell tiles appear often because they are honest landmarks.
Whampoa evenings smell of coffee from the shop below and rain on the rail.
Whampoa evenings smell of coffee from the shop below and rain on the rail.
These memos are written for the margin, not the marketplace.
The river walk and the stairwell tiles appear often because they are honest landmarks.
Whampoa evenings smell of coffee from the shop below and rain on the rail.
These memos are written for the margin, not the marketplace.
The river walk and the stairwell tiles appear often because they are honest landmarks.