Party

9 Jul

The air is full tonight with heat, saturated. No breeze. I sit on the stoop of the back porch, and suddenly I realize nothing else matters but this moment. There is nothing but moments, such as these, strung together like a series of lightening bugs. Moments where you know you’re alive: You think, know and feel all-together, making for explosive consciousness. It almost hurts. Skin, blood and bones somehow cease to exist, swallowed whole by something infinitely more powerful. The soul? You know it won’t last long. And just like that, it’s gone. Gray moss hangs down from the tree. An old lady’s faded lace. The wind comes now, sweeping across the lake and through the gray moss. It sways back and forth. I know the party is going on, across the lake. I can hear it, the far off merrymaking. It’s soft though. Only the party’s whisper floats across. Inside, where the lights are bright, it screams. The wooden row boat creaks in the water, hitting the dock with the waves. Maybe I will go to the party, dressed in overalls. Before I get into the boat I slip off my shoes and leave them in the sand. I untie the boat from the post, shoving against it until I finally feel it gliding free of shore and into smooth water. Around the boat, the water is black, but the sky above is bright with stars and a fat moon. I row slow so that my muscles don’t burn, and my head becomes clouded with the slow rhythm of the boat moving in spurts across the inky water. So, in the middle of the lake, I stop. Unlike the porch, it’s cool here, between two angelic worlds of water and moon and crystal stars, suspended in sky.

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