The last day.

I was floating down a river in a small canoe.  I was not alone.  My friend the wolf was with me.

I said "Wolf, why are we sitting here?"

"This is what we always do."  He replied.

"Why don't we do something about it?"  I asked him.

"About what?"

"Our boat."

"What boat?"  He asked me, his head cocked slightly and his ears wiggling.

And he was right.  There was no boat.

We were sitting on the floor, legs crossed, eating Pocky.

"I forgot,"  I said, "that I don't own a boat."

He munched on a stick of Pocky.  "That's okay."  He said to me.

"We all make mistakes."

I nodded slowly, contemplating the powers of my imagination, and the deliciousness of Pocky.