Lying on our tummies, on a boardwalk stretching out over vernal pool. Not quite warmed by the weak spring sunshine. Grainy wood beneath our palms as we peer into the murky shallows. Seeing but reflections in a pool opaque in the reluctant sunshine.
Songbirds, newly emerged from a deep winter exile, lull us into lassitude with their calls. We gaze at clouds, water and our wavering silhouettes without really seeing anything. Then suddenly, somewhere - something shifts. Our focal length changes. Just like that - we can see now.
Below the ripples spreading out from the whirligig's hops and just under the lazily floating dots of algae....something just moved.
There.
And there.
This one has bulging eyes and a tiny gray toned body. Darting to and fro with elegance and speed. Mosquitoe larvae, we later find out to only a slight reduction in the romance of it (because even pests have an innocent start after all).
The other one has a notched tail with white streaks on its edge. Scuttles about on the many legs fringing its translucent, segmented middle . Fairy Shrimp, we are told.
There are more like these too.
Under, over, gliding, spinning, resting, teeming, seething life.
Under us, who are in turn pinned by the leaden sky.
Our heads that touched in delighted discovery part in time, to shake off the trance as the thrill pales. This window turns gracefully back into an obsidian mirrora and the secret world retreats.
Days later, the same heads touch in more delighted discovery. We turn the image of our reflection into an image of our reflection. Mixing paints with abandon on the painting software, we realize that a grey sky actually needs a little blue. The bare tree branches, gray from the winter, are really a little red. Half-focused eyes show us that swirly brush strokes don't make good clouds like we thought. Horizontal swaths of color, do.
There is no end, truly.
Songbirds, newly emerged from a deep winter exile, lull us into lassitude with their calls. We gaze at clouds, water and our wavering silhouettes without really seeing anything. Then suddenly, somewhere - something shifts. Our focal length changes. Just like that - we can see now.
Below the ripples spreading out from the whirligig's hops and just under the lazily floating dots of algae....something just moved.
There.
And there.
This one has bulging eyes and a tiny gray toned body. Darting to and fro with elegance and speed. Mosquitoe larvae, we later find out to only a slight reduction in the romance of it (because even pests have an innocent start after all).
The other one has a notched tail with white streaks on its edge. Scuttles about on the many legs fringing its translucent, segmented middle . Fairy Shrimp, we are told.
There are more like these too.
Under, over, gliding, spinning, resting, teeming, seething life.
Under us, who are in turn pinned by the leaden sky.
Our heads that touched in delighted discovery part in time, to shake off the trance as the thrill pales. This window turns gracefully back into an obsidian mirrora and the secret world retreats.
Days later, the same heads touch in more delighted discovery. We turn the image of our reflection into an image of our reflection. Mixing paints with abandon on the painting software, we realize that a grey sky actually needs a little blue. The bare tree branches, gray from the winter, are really a little red. Half-focused eyes show us that swirly brush strokes don't make good clouds like we thought. Horizontal swaths of color, do.
There is no end, truly.
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| The photograph. iPhone. |
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| The painting. 'Fresh Paint' program on Windows 8. |
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