the lost man chronicles
silent regression .12
This morning I paddled out amongst the blanket of the mist into a haven of stillness where the water wafted serenely as if there were two exhausted lovers sleeping underneath. This sheath was eerily calm and only the hum of traffic a few blocks away and the waves caressing the shore a block beyond kept me tied to civilization. This was a grand moment to be alone in the bay.
Literally, for two miles or more I could not see a single soul upon a pier, in a boat, or cruising about in any other noisy motorized vehicle. The water was so still that I was not drifting, and I could actually see the fields of grass, shafts upon shafts of crisscrossed blades lined with algae a few feet beneath me.
With the evenly toned sheet of grey-white-barely-blue sky reflected all about, I felt as if I were floating atop a pane of antique glass.
A small molecule shaped area to my right where the obscured sun danced anxiously was a hypnotic purview into the primordial brew that created us all. Teeming at the top were these mystic swirls that unfurled like oil in water, but without the rainbow of color that distinguished the lithe guest from the heavier of the two.
After a furry of rowing I sat still, and accompanied by the caws of gulls, indulged in some quasi-quantum-makeshift mediation-cum-yoga in which I regressed from an ugly homo sapien into a one-celled protoplasm and onto the beginning of a whole new world as the mere essence of a sentiment swinging about a single atom. Reaching high with both hands toward the nebulous spans above me, I then outstretched them and the expanse of my wings curled about the world to come full circle and complete my regeneration.
I continued the venture to the bridge, an excursion which usually ended up being about three miles roundtrip. But about a quarter of the way there this time I decided to swing about in circles instead.
Coming across a semi-circular sheet of still water I curved about half a dozen times, reveling in the smooth turns. The ride was a subtle contrast to the usually skip amongst the waves and it proved to be a refined work-out.
the beginning of the Fall .11 13. a wonderful life