I sat by the water today and watched the ripples; felt the breeze across the surface. Looked at the branches of the trees – dark cracks across a broken sky.
A few quiet moments to find something. A few quiet words asking for the way. There was no answer. I didn’t really expect one.
I should know the way. It’s a path I’ve taken before. I need only retrace it. But it’s hidden; concealed through years of careful, diligent disuse.
But it’s there. When it’s there. And today it’s there. I feel it. It’s among the waves; woven through the clouds. It’s where lake meets sky. It’s always where the joins are. The boundaries. The discontinuities. That’s where you find it, always – if you’re going to look for it at all. Be quick, though, if you do: when you see that fracture, that gentle jarring disjunct, you’ll only have a moment to take your chance, and you might not see it again.
You can keep looking, of course. Nothing stops you. You’re as like to find it today in the supermarket as yesterday by the lake, or tomorrow in the park. A shadow that doesn’t quite work. A reflection that misses a colour, or an edge. Or a sound you can’t quite place, and won’t echo where it should.
But for different lives there are different places. Places that best fit. Where the junction places stand out – if only a little.
Mine are where the water is. I remember that. I’ve forgotten so much, but I remember that.