Growth

Living on a lake in the midwest is a sensuous experience. It is not as much about the sight or touch of the water as it is the sound. The softness of waves hitting the seawall create the perfect accompaniment to crickets in the summertime. But it is the groan of winter water that talks with intent.

In the early hours, my eyes are closed.  Without a moon, it is too dark to see the still gleam of the ice anyway. Everything in the outside world seems useless and dead asleep; storing energy for the rebirth of spring.

Consciously feeling my body and breath, I eventually all together forget where I am.  Until the rhythm of nature offers its daily lesson.  The lake wakes in a fitful dream.  Lacking the snow to muffle it, its voice continually carries out at different decibels and pitches. First, a soft explosion, then some scratchy cries followed by eerie moans of pain. I smile as I realize, it is teaching me what it feels like to expand.

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