Tide Lucidity

 "Each way I turn, I know I'll always try

To break this circle that's been placed around me

From time to time, I find I've lost some need

It was urgent to myself, I do believe

...

Please don't let me hit the ground,"

-- New Order, Temptation  from the album Substance (1987) 

Friedrich,  Dave, Caspar. The Monk by the Sea (1808-1810). Berlin, Germany. 

    I’m sitting on a large sheet of rocks alongside the shore. Enshrouded by hues of periwinkle, lavender and baby pink, the sky reveals herself to me as the Moon beams down in a wondrous haze— it’s never looked so bright as it does tonight. Something about this moment feels so serene; I know beautiful moments like this are on thin ice with the ways of the world. As if the waves, that frill with foam and slowly beat against the muddled pebbles at the foot of these rocks, are bidding a welcoming allure for me; they’re unwaveringly inviting me to the expedition of independence and unknown adventures that will age with time. 

    To the right of me is a boy (one who I’ve met very recently, with no more than an acquaintance, but greeted in a haze of a dream) unbeknownst to the quiet beauty of his character that pledges itself in a very obvious manner to me. He's resemblant of an orchid: an elegance that goes unseen to the naked eye but draws life from forces uncharted in fragility. I never believed orchids to grow in the obscurity of moonlight but my, how the rays of it’s illustrious glow highlight his true grace. 

    We sit, deeply rooted in passing words, listening to the way the water moves between our shared contemplations. Ripples are safe-guarded and silent; I know this moment is protected by the confinements of this shore. I’m not afraid of the intrusion of the water and her waves because I know she watches in a state of to-and-fro. 

    Vacillating in an ebb, the continuous sways carry our words, aspirations, secrets, (maybe even prayers), out into the private corners of the world. This is a shared agreement we both give to the lake, for we know that our words will become that of still-water, never reaching any unintended audience. No fears or harsh abrasions, of the soreness that seeps from the soils of world conflicts, fester here. Negativity is drowned by the longevity of the water and her ability to rock the unnerved into a calming lull.

    Only exuding warmth, of a perfect moment, is encapsulated here in a dream.