A wise old man was sleeping at the bottom of the river

I was walking at the bottom of the Nendaz valley. The dogs were gambolling happily and running after the pieces of wood that were flying here and there. The path went along the river, the water glistened with a thousand changing reflections, caressing the red pebbles in its bed, typical of this iron-rich region.

And there, meeting... In the bed of the river slumbered an old sage. Old Jeddi escaped from the star wars? Buddha lost in an eternal meditation? Old walrus stranded there by a whim of the destiny?

Hard to say. I didn't dare wake him up to ask him the question. But I took a picture of him...