Surface Tension

"Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself." - Franz Kafka

I lie, floating upright in the middle of a lake. It’s night out. Dark with a few shimmers from my past. The stars keep an eye on me, just like they do with anyone that pays attention. The water is as cold as ice and I feel a silk breeze tickle my hard cheeks. There will be a storm arriving, Mother Nature says. I can’t wait for the snow to fall. It’s so cold and soft, like ice cream or a nice sorbet. My palms lay solid on the fine sheet of water. My fingers slightly tap against the surface giving way to cascading ripples. Surface tension is so fun to feel, or to even witness. The thin border that lies between me and the wonders below. The excitement I feel of a storm to come. And the large gap that separates me from my star keepers. The shadows of my ancestors leave a trace as gentle as the ripples I tap. With each breath I collect more wisdom, finding my way back home.

Being alive can sometimes feel like wandering on a fragile veil of life and death. It can be tumultuous. I even get seasick at times, longing for land, for home. Yet, as I float in the cold lake, I can feel the voices of my ancestors in my rising blood pressure. In my numb face. And my actively runny nose. My head aches thinking of how far those stars are. You see, while it may hurt, space is something to embrace. It keeps life interesting. Mysterious to say the least. For we remain as nomads lurking the land for what we feel deep in our veins. There are always places to go and beautiful storms to catch. But as I float on this cold freshwater, I am reminded of the fragility of life. The fragility of surface tension that separates me from what I cannot see. From what could be. And the space in between that keeps me warm. Hungry for more.