“Zephyr’s Gift”
May. 7th, 2017 12:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ateolf Waves of white canvas float and twist farther out, farther out. Cracked mast splintered bobs and taps against the hull. A layer of rain thins against the deck, steam rising into the freshened sun, now the storm has passed. Gently rise, gently fall. An incomplete stillness controls the scene, but what is not completely still is merely slight, a calmness of motion.
“David,” I call out into the quiet.
I am met with silence and stillness and gently calm motion, the slight sounds that water makes in the middle of a large lake.
I return below deck, take a lawn chair, and unfold it facing the rail, facing the sea, facing the hazy line of shore. I also have a glass of lemonade on ice. I sit, remove the little umbrella, and toss it overboard as my lips wrap around the straw. I have my view at last and I take it all in. I take in the clear air, the bright clear blue sky, the near-blinding disc of sun. I am facing such that all clouds are behind me. I take in the arcs and traces and circling motions of a group of birds in the middle distance towards the shore. A few birds dive to the sea, presumably catching fish, but there are no details at this distance. I take in the slow undulations of wave upon wave stretching nearly the entire distance of my vision. I’ll eventually need to close that distance, but not now, not yet.
The now is for rest. The now is for ease. The now is for the view afforded by bright sun and clear blue sky and long, rolling stretch of lake. I swallow the lemonade and feel the coolness spread to my skin through my throat and muscles. I strain to think of a time I felt so relaxed.
I stretch arms and legs and walk about, testing this new solitude. My footsteps are hesitant at first, but more and more I find a confidence in my gait. I circle the deck. I breeze through the cabin. I step and turn and spin. I shout into the air, no longer feeling a need to call some name. My shouts settle to laughter and then silence.
Now I’m facing the side of the sky where a piece of the storm still resides in the distance. A little over stretches a rainbow. People often attach significance to rainbows. I’m just finding the colors beautiful. The rainbow is only a quarter arc and disappears into the darker clouds.
As I return to the lawnchair and settle back into leisure, my mind settles into reverie. My mind settles into a general acceptance of and identification with its lacustrine environs. It drifts about the boat, drifts along the deck, the drifts through the cabin and out across the waves and over what lies beneath. It drifts through the series of events that got me here out in the middle of this lake in the sudden path of that storm. It skips and dashes and skids across thoughts of my marriage. It soars into the sky and joins the birds and dives down into the water, among the birds must be feeding on.
I must have drifted asleep, because this state I’m in now could only be described as waking up. I stand and stroll over to run my finger along the rail and surface of the dinghy against the side of the boat. I know that eventually I must lower it over the side and paddle back to shore. I know that without a master and without a sail and without a motor this boat is going nowhere but drifting aimlessly. I know I can’t drift forever with just enough food for one single, lavish banquet. But I wait and enjoy the time I’ve been given. I enjoy the tranquility of my surroundings. And I savor the taste and the sensation of swallowing as, over time, I devour each delicate morsel of our remaining supply.
“David,” I call out into the quiet.
I am met with silence and stillness and gently calm motion, the slight sounds that water makes in the middle of a large lake.
I return below deck, take a lawn chair, and unfold it facing the rail, facing the sea, facing the hazy line of shore. I also have a glass of lemonade on ice. I sit, remove the little umbrella, and toss it overboard as my lips wrap around the straw. I have my view at last and I take it all in. I take in the clear air, the bright clear blue sky, the near-blinding disc of sun. I am facing such that all clouds are behind me. I take in the arcs and traces and circling motions of a group of birds in the middle distance towards the shore. A few birds dive to the sea, presumably catching fish, but there are no details at this distance. I take in the slow undulations of wave upon wave stretching nearly the entire distance of my vision. I’ll eventually need to close that distance, but not now, not yet.
The now is for rest. The now is for ease. The now is for the view afforded by bright sun and clear blue sky and long, rolling stretch of lake. I swallow the lemonade and feel the coolness spread to my skin through my throat and muscles. I strain to think of a time I felt so relaxed.
I stretch arms and legs and walk about, testing this new solitude. My footsteps are hesitant at first, but more and more I find a confidence in my gait. I circle the deck. I breeze through the cabin. I step and turn and spin. I shout into the air, no longer feeling a need to call some name. My shouts settle to laughter and then silence.
Now I’m facing the side of the sky where a piece of the storm still resides in the distance. A little over stretches a rainbow. People often attach significance to rainbows. I’m just finding the colors beautiful. The rainbow is only a quarter arc and disappears into the darker clouds.
As I return to the lawnchair and settle back into leisure, my mind settles into reverie. My mind settles into a general acceptance of and identification with its lacustrine environs. It drifts about the boat, drifts along the deck, the drifts through the cabin and out across the waves and over what lies beneath. It drifts through the series of events that got me here out in the middle of this lake in the sudden path of that storm. It skips and dashes and skids across thoughts of my marriage. It soars into the sky and joins the birds and dives down into the water, among the birds must be feeding on.
I must have drifted asleep, because this state I’m in now could only be described as waking up. I stand and stroll over to run my finger along the rail and surface of the dinghy against the side of the boat. I know that eventually I must lower it over the side and paddle back to shore. I know that without a master and without a sail and without a motor this boat is going nowhere but drifting aimlessly. I know I can’t drift forever with just enough food for one single, lavish banquet. But I wait and enjoy the time I’ve been given. I enjoy the tranquility of my surroundings. And I savor the taste and the sensation of swallowing as, over time, I devour each delicate morsel of our remaining supply.
