At the edge of a floating village, where the lake swells and sighs like a sleeping giant, a wooden shed leans slightly over the water—its stilts thin, but holding, like the rest of life here. Beneath its crooked shadow, two children play.
The boy, no more than five, pantsless, his belly round from rice and river wind, his legs splattered with mud and joy. He holds a balloon—blue, half-deflated, tied with a fraying bit of red string. The girl, older by a year or two, wears a thin cotton dress with one strap falling. She cradles a yellow balloon, grinning wide enough to swallow the sky.
The balloons bounce. One hits the low tin roof. The other floats toward the lake. They both scream with delight, arms flailing, eyes bright.