Floating
I know he's here. I see him . . . sometimes. I feel him . . . always. I know that he is here, and that he knows me. I know that he loves me. He is in the water, and I know him.
It's funny, because no other water has ever felt the same. There is a softness, a quality in the way that it runs over me, in the way that it touches me, that is completely unique. Maybe all rivers are like that, if you get to know them well enough. I will never know. The only river that I want to know is this one.
Our house, when I was growing up, was no where near my river. But when I left that tiny, dead end town for college, I found it. There was an undeveloped part still flowing strong, and I built a house by the side of it. Only a small house, true, a house that has never made my mother or my father happy. A tiny, one bedroom, one bathroom affair, with a kitchen that I hardly fit in, a living room that barely accommodates my family when they visit, and a single loft where I sleep. I built it myself, with no assistance from anyone else, even when I was installing the plumbing. There is no electricity, I light all the lamps by hand.
The size of my home has never bothered me, because I spend most of my time out doors. I grow most of my own food, indeed, it must seem to the reader that I live in complete isolation. It really isn't just the river and myself. There lays the town, just a few miles walk from my place. There I buy meat and milk and eggs. There I buy my clothes. There I buy my books. Thither I go every morning Monday through Friday to teach at the school.
But I walk the miles back every day to an empty house and the small piece of my river that I own.
And then I am alone, but not lonely.
For, I have the river. And in the river, I have him.
And on days like today, when I lie upon the surface, floating as the water carries me downstream, I will glimpse him. A brush of scales upon my skin, a hint of soft hair beneath my fingers. The caress of water against my body, as it engulfs me and lays me down onto the sandy bottom. The soft sound of his voice, as the stream jumps and dances around rocks and obstacles. The look that his eyes would get, his laughter, his smile, all these race upon the black backs of my eyelids when I blink.
And then I smile, and float with my eyes closed, silently wondering what he would think of my simple existence. I think I know. But I shan't hazard a guess.
I will be able to ask him soon.
It won't be long now.
--Divine Firefly.
I know he's here. I see him . . . sometimes. I feel him . . . always. I know that he is here, and that he knows me. I know that he loves me. He is in the water, and I know him.
It's funny, because no other water has ever felt the same. There is a softness, a quality in the way that it runs over me, in the way that it touches me, that is completely unique. Maybe all rivers are like that, if you get to know them well enough. I will never know. The only river that I want to know is this one.
Our house, when I was growing up, was no where near my river. But when I left that tiny, dead end town for college, I found it. There was an undeveloped part still flowing strong, and I built a house by the side of it. Only a small house, true, a house that has never made my mother or my father happy. A tiny, one bedroom, one bathroom affair, with a kitchen that I hardly fit in, a living room that barely accommodates my family when they visit, and a single loft where I sleep. I built it myself, with no assistance from anyone else, even when I was installing the plumbing. There is no electricity, I light all the lamps by hand.
The size of my home has never bothered me, because I spend most of my time out doors. I grow most of my own food, indeed, it must seem to the reader that I live in complete isolation. It really isn't just the river and myself. There lays the town, just a few miles walk from my place. There I buy meat and milk and eggs. There I buy my clothes. There I buy my books. Thither I go every morning Monday through Friday to teach at the school.
But I walk the miles back every day to an empty house and the small piece of my river that I own.
And then I am alone, but not lonely.
For, I have the river. And in the river, I have him.
And on days like today, when I lie upon the surface, floating as the water carries me downstream, I will glimpse him. A brush of scales upon my skin, a hint of soft hair beneath my fingers. The caress of water against my body, as it engulfs me and lays me down onto the sandy bottom. The soft sound of his voice, as the stream jumps and dances around rocks and obstacles. The look that his eyes would get, his laughter, his smile, all these race upon the black backs of my eyelids when I blink.
And then I smile, and float with my eyes closed, silently wondering what he would think of my simple existence. I think I know. But I shan't hazard a guess.
I will be able to ask him soon.
It won't be long now.
--Divine Firefly.
