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The Memory of Water

written by: Lashaye

@Lashaye13866487

 

A deep violet and lucid calm.  I could just make out the sound of the lapping waves against the earth's open and endowed mouth.

The embankment was sturdy with rocks and stones as if the calm waters once raged and surged, heaving them into their defined resting places.

During the low and ebbing tides, I could actually see the massive walls piled high in order to peek their great depths, the murky riverbed a virtual mirage to dipped toes, but never beyond the slender and elongated thigh of the young woman I was then. So cold and much too deep, I would picture an abyss as my fingers found the loose straps of my sandals abandoned in the high grass beside me.  The water was so alluring to an innocent - but I was too familiar with its monstrous qualities.

Being so familiar, I knew just how intrepid I could be along those banks during its surface calm, its ravenous heart beating in time as my footsteps quickened along its edges, my naked feet traversing the cold smoothness.  With youthful agility and deft precision, the soles of my feet seemed to conform to the stony seams as if they remembered every slippery crack and crevice.  I was getting good at taunting this natural wonder. For it taunted me once and almost devoured my soul.

Water is like memory. A changing, shifting animal caged in a section of the brain that fiercely waits to be released. It is restless and tired all at the same time.  Although water can find a crack to flow under or channel through, like a block of ice it too can conform to its surroundings. Then direct light and heat pours upon it, starting a chemical chain reaction that slowly releases, creating an erosion; a slide show of yesterdays.

© ~LaShaye

Lashaye

Lashaye

A reader, writer and lover of words. Always has been my passion to write and share my creative works with those having the same deep appreciation for the art.
Lashaye

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