Something Brought Ian Carson
care, did we?
The sun fell hard the next day, took us by surprise. We took our clothes off and stood by the river. I looked in your eyes, and it was all there, so we didn’t talk. One of the great herons flew overhead as our uneasy steps guided us out to a place of our own. The great granite slabs. I lower myself into deeper water, and you follow. Muscles, tense from the rush of cold, loosen as the calm sets in. My fingers find yours underwater, and we just stand there. Your skin feels like glass beneath the slip of the river; the fragility of one who may be gone at any moment. But you stay. My toes work their way into the stony bottom, as our bodies sway to the pull of the current, my eyes lost to its gentle grasp.
Where do you want to go?
But downstream, I am sure, there is some shade to rest under. Some woods to explore. Some field on which to plant our feet, great skies to collapse beneath. Cliffs from which to view this world, and all its movement. Something brought to settle scores, the ageless pull from the mountains and streams above; Rushing past, to give itself so desperately.
The river falls from your shoulders.