Quite often, usually after sundown, and always alone, he would cross the woods to the lake among the high rocks.
It was dark except for the moonlight.
He would plunge into the chilly water, deeper and deeper as he could, as it awakened him in ways he didn’t know he was asleep. The ice-cold water, angry at its still being disturbed, fought against him, and he struggled until they both found a calm rhythm - of getting used to the disturbance and shock, and learning each other’s flow.
He knew it was strange, but this body of water was a dear friend. A friend he would come to for this struggle and calm. A friend in the dark moonlight night.
I’d rather look at the moon reflected and deflected in the flowing water beneath
Than look up right at it in the sky
I’d rather squint a little
Than notice the creases on these pages brittle
I’d rather dim the lights to yellow
Than look at the room bright
I’d rather stare at you from afar
Than know who you really are