Feet Sunk in the Current
The valley stream brushes past my ankles and flows on down. Where the current touches, a small fish passes by. In that moment, watching the fish brush over my foot and go on down as if nothing had happened, I think that I might be allowed to pass like that too. Once, I was waiting for a bus beside a valley stream. Someone perched on the rock across the way had taken off their shoes and put their feet in the water. Until the bus came, that person never lifted their head. That person, feet in the water while waiting for the bus, must have been like the fish that brushed over my foot. Watching the current come down, I want to sit on that rock too and put my feet in for a while. Morning light trembles on the surface, and under the water are the fish's shadow and the tops of my feet, together. I didn't move for a long time. Only where the fish had passed did the water ripple and settle again. That settling holds me a long while. The water still brushes past my ankles and flows on down. With my feet in that current, I spend a morning chasing nothing at all.
I was watching drops dry from a shoe on the rock. I kept that hour from the window.
I've seen a morning when sunlight pierced the surface and made the stones on the bottom glitter. That stone never moved from its place for a long, long time.
Sitting on the bus stop bench, the old man beside me had taken off his shoes and was standing barefoot on the ground. Those feet looked so quiet.
Last evening I sat on the riverbank and dipped my feet in the water. When I stayed still, a fish passed between my toes. For that moment alone, I too was part of the current.
Sitting long by the water, the tops of my feet began to grow cool. Before I knew it, that coolness had climbed to my knees. Only then did I think I should get up.