A Moment at the Lake
A romantic and symbolic piece, creating and distorting my depression.
Looking over the lake, I find my stomach dropping as my eyes lock onto a chunk of ice floating. It seems to get smaller as it goes, melting like everything else, the harsh lines softening and rounding out. It bumps into another piece and spins back, seemingly apologizing for something it can't control. But the other piece continues on without a glance toward my little piece. My little piece goes on, dodging and bumping others in a sad manner that reminds one of a kindergartner in a high school hallway.
I move my eyes up to the clouds and blue-grey of the sky. My mind forms shapes of the clouds; a dark cloud seems to be a bird, a fluffy white one to be a delicate butterfly, and one could even be a snowflake. The other clouds dance by faster than I can name the shapes, making me long for the chance. Simply one chance to make right what my mind could not do. It was not my fault that I failed at my simple task. Basically not given enough time to work through what was needed.
I once more force my eyes away to move my mind along. The ground is still solid but thawed in random splotches, here, there, everywhere. A cool breeze off the water ruffles the small tufts of grass sprouting and causes my eyes to close for a moment. Breathing seemed easier, calmer, more natural. The sound of the trees moving and shifting around me brings a smile to my lips. They seemed to whisper soothing phrases, reassuring my mind and calming my body. “Why worry when the breeze can blow it all away?” they ask. I respond with a nod of my head and another deep breathe. It will be okay.
The breeze stops and I wish it back. My eyes snap open with force enough for another gust. Yet the world seems to stand still. My breathing becomes forced and mechanical. My lungs wish to give up but I force them on, for the rest of my body needs the air they give. My body thanks me by asking for more, the world thanks me by asking for more. More, more, more. Always more. The world needs someone to move the air and the lake laughs at the job, the trees and the grass are above such things. So I must continue to work and put in effort. I dream of pouting and yet I have no time or energy to put into such, always focusing on breathing.
My world begins to spin as if pushed by nothing. I plant my feet like roots and the ground seems to push back. It urges me on, tells me to go forward into the mud. And yet, I long for times past, I long for the cold and solidity of a ground frosted over. Many argue that the cold months cause me to become sick and support my struggling thoughts. But I disagree.
No the months are beautiful. The good of the cold upon my lungs casts the pains it causes in the shadows. The smiles the flakes bring me are more than many know. The way my feet seem to fit into each mold with each step is a feeling mud cannot give. Though I may need sweaters and gloves, the added effort seems belittled in the end when I look out onto a frozen lake, smoothed and hardened by nature. I long for the moments when my lake does not seem to fall apart. Though seemingly for its own good, I become selfish in my thoughts of wanting it to remain solid and shimmering.
I look over the water once more and find the sunlight going into the waves. The liquid seems to engulf the beams and take them for its own, selfishly and greedily keeping them from the rest of the world. I think back to the glass reflections of sunlight off ice. The way ice distorts the light but still shares it, still lets others enjoy the warmth and beauty, still allows the gift of sight.
I find the corners of my lips dancing as a crow lands near me. He hops toward me and scolds me for my want of a time when he is not comfortable. He wishes to be in the warmth, as do most. I apologize with a glance and he flies into the trees with one last word. He reminds me the cold will come again and he will leave once more. I turn with a start as the bird lands behind me and shrieks again. Perhaps his presence will be something I look forward to when I do not get my winter... Perhaps he will make things easier until my beloved returns...