11/23/2025
From Artist/Writer
Jan Sky
The Otter Who Carried Laughter
They say the river once held a secret
a small creature who knew how to turn sorrow
back into water
and let it flow away.
It began with a village
pressed beneath too many heavy days.
People worked, worried, whispered,
and even the children played
as though someone had dimmed the light in their eyes.
The river felt it too;
its surface grew still,
its songs muted.
One morning, an otter arrived.
No one saw where it came from.
It simply appeared on a flat stone
in the river’s bend,
slick fur shining like polished dusk,
whiskers twitching
as if catching distant laughter on the wind.
At first, the villagers ignored it.
What difference could such a small creature make?
But the otter began to drift through the water
in wide loops and rolls,
twisting its body in ways that made ripples
sparkle like spilled silver.
It cracked open shells with perfect joy,
floating on its back as though the river itself
was a cradle meant only for it.
Sometimes it would hold a tiny stone
with a tenderness that made people pause,
as if it were guarding something precious
from a world that had forgotten softness.
Slowly, the river changed.
The water stirred again,
giggling against the banks
the way it had long ago.
Children wandered closer,
drawn by the otter’s freedom.
Their laughter slipped out first in small waves,
then in bright bursts
that startled the silence into remembering itself.
And the adults
those who had forgotten
how to let go
found themselves watching
the otter’s easy joy.
It reminded them
that the world was not only weight and duty.
That sometimes, healing began
with something as simple
as letting the river carry
what the heart shouldn’t hold.
One evening,
as the sun softened into amber,
the otter climbed onto a rock
and looked at the village
with eyes that understood more
than any words could say.
Then, just as quietly as it had come,
it slipped beneath the water
and disappeared.
But its presence remained
in the way the river laughed again,
in the way children chased light along its edge,
and in the small moments
when grown hearts unclenched
without noticing.
And sometimes,
when someone sits by the river
with worries too heavy to name,
they swear they feel a small ripple of joy
bump gently against their feet
as if the otter, wherever it has gone,
still sends pieces of its laughter
downstream
to those who need it most.