Literature
Sodden
That space between what should be and what is, a dissonance unexpected, a single measure of five beats in the steady four-four drumming of existence. I once felt sure, full of hope and expectation, but if there is one thing life is certain to teach, it is that the future is as water, changing course around obstruction, rippling as debris drops into its surface, never stopping in its tumbling, its draining, until momentum has bled away. So, in self defense, I, too, became like water, flowing downhill, spinning, 'til I could finally rest, breathe, fall into a stillness. A stagnant pool there, I waited, wondering, "What comes next?" Now, the sun is high overhead, reflecting off my surface, cutting across the grass in burning silver blades. The drone of a cicada fills my ears. Not a voice, nor a car. Not the bark of a dog. No sparrow's song. What I thought I once knew, I need to discard it, let it drop to the clouded bottom. Rise up, me, again a being, again a doing. The knowledge