Paternal Waters
Silk gaze
Image on Mohican lands by Andrew Kluger
Ripples on ripples.
I look out at the river to see the surface, layered with ripples.
Wrinkles, in constant motion.
Emerging, only to disappear.
Arising, only to fall away.
The tide: a smile that widens and tightens with time.
Nature wears time with such elegance.
I’m sitting on a piece of driftwood with my thoughts, soon joined by an elder who sits down on another log, a few feet to my left.
“The water, it calms me,” she extended.
She’s wearing pink running shoes and red-framed glasses, maybe 70-something.
Silver hair and soft eyes. Experiential wisdom is emanating from her being.
“It sure does,” I replied, not wanting to dive in too deep too fast. I felt the exchange was textured enough, in the simplicity of it all.
Alas, there we were on the riverside, taking in the glory of another sunset, seated on these logs of driftwood that found their way to shore.
Artifacts of the journey, supporting us both.
Each of us resting upon logs of lifetimes past;
fallen wood, turned water-logged and
current-carried, eventually breached and
sun-dried to become bench-worthy.
Each of us present, yet immersed in our own existence.
I didn’t even know her name, yet we were kindred by the shared reality we sat within.
Breathed within and bowed to.
She asked me “what’s your sun sign, darlin’?”
I asked her why we didn’t know more of the moon.
“Because hunny, we been raised to worship the father.”
I took a deep breath in agreement, acknowledging the depth of her claim. Ripples.
“My father transitioned this year,” I shared.
She closed her eyes and placed her hand on her heart. More ripples.
“We both know we don’t ever really die, darlin’. Let’s just hope your father learned what his soul came here to learn, so he don’t have to come back to learn it again.”
We sat for some time.
Long enough to see the sky canvas turn a painting that’s one of a kind and impossible to replicate.
“What’s your name sweetheart,” she asked.
“My name is Emily,” I replied.
“Well, Emily, it’s damn sure been a pleasure. The name’s Laura.”
We hugged. She walked off and tears began to fall from my eyes.
Not the sad tears that come from the inner creases of the eyes, but those neutral sort of tears that come from reveling in the beauty of it all. The tears that fall from the outer corners of the eyes when we witness something beautiful, and really behold the beauty.
The simplicity. The humanity.