What It Says

She has a relationship to water. She knows this to be true; it's something she thinks about in the quiet moments, but has never quite been able to articulate.

Her dreams...the fragments she can recall on waking...are all of water. Images of lily-dotted ponds, of brooks teeming with speckled trout, of dhows with white wing-shaped sails on wide dark green rivers. Sometimes, on waking, she remembers the ocean, foam-tossed and primal, which she has never seen in person. Not just the image of the ocean, but the smell and taste.

She knows her body is more than 60% water, she knows water comprises 70% of her brain and 80% of her blood; she knows water covers more than 70% of the earth, and she finds strange solace in that knowledge. The water in her blood responds to the cycles of the moon just as the tides do.

Is it surprising, then, that in her waking life she is drawn to water? Is it surprising that it speaks to her? Not in words, but in images and ideas, in concepts and queer fluid impressions. She sees the floating feather, the drifting leaf, the shifting patterns of surface-skimming insects as an ornate, organic calligraphy that's almost...almost...legible.

She wonders what it says.

posted by greg @ 3:20 PM