Water

Slate-green water chanted under a mournful sky. Each wave rolled in its turn and threw up a rebellious mist before churning back into the song, every rise and fall accompanied by another percussive hail.

Rain-washed breezes brushed the top of my head and moved my coat against my aching side. The distractions of a sunny day, and the noise of other people, were somewhere else, with someone else, leaving behind the elemental chorus of the planet. I allowed the movement of the water and the song of its pulse to absorb my mind and confuse my eyes.

In its mesmer, time disappeared. I had a glimpse of the chessboard, cleared.

The waters moved without worry. Rhythmic. Self-sufficient and without interference. The purity of formless form. That liquid place, from whence all life came, beckoned with a reminder of what life can still be.

For a moment, for a minute, for an hour, however long it was, chaos felt as alien to my place in the world as order felt the day before. I stopped trying to account for the previous night I drank away, or rationalize the tears I could still taste behind my teeth.

For the first time in a long time, I caught a glimpse of the peace I always seek, and in that moment it reminded me that chasing it was folly. Because, in a moment I did not expect it, it came to me. That tiny, transcendent moment was a gracious visit with a wordless benediction.

A shiver broke through the reverie and I pulled my coat closed against the gathering wind.

Even though I was terrified to trust the feeling, I realized I was starting to feel, even if was just a little, healed.