I only see him when I’m on the water. Sometimes standing motionless at the water’s edge or walking deep into the mist that covers the marsh. Sometimes he is just an outline shrouded in the blazing sun, other times a blurry halftone image in the water just out of reach in front of me. I have no idea where he came from, but I have an innate feeling I have been there. I’ve watched him in the distance for a long time now. But as seasons pass, he draws closer and I sense a growing familiarity. Long periods of stillness. An indistinguishable face but with eyes clearly defined. A blank gaze visibly focused on the distance. Periodic moments of slow, efficient movements. A slight limp to the left. He often speaks in quiet conversation but to who I can not say. The sound of his voice becomes more recognizable as these encounters continue, but I have yet to understand his words. He stares at me with a look that is both confident and lost as if awaiting my response. I hurl questions across the silence between us uncertain if they are spoken or just thought. Unable to answer one another we stand in the struggle somewhere between faithful and fateful listening for some far-off bell yet to be rung. I turn away for a moment thinking I hear the echo. When I turn back he is gone. Until the next time.
From the water.
8 May 2020
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