vaneramos | The pond: breathing, drowning

Avalon

Yesterday I saw light on the water and took pictures in the wake of a canoe that passed. But when I downloaded them, my camera had seen the little island rising bright as Avalon against the gloom.

Enchanted, I returned this evening to take more pictures. But the light had all changed. The island seemed no more than a nesting pad for geese soon to become overgrown with nettles.

Light had gone back into the water. The pond was filled with bright clouds. A silent jet, a tiny silver fish, crawled across the depths. A warbling vireo sang like a cheerful drunk in resonant stillness. A little blond boy came to fish with his ruddy, moustached father. The man's face was radiant, his voice eager.

Everyone has forgotten how to breathe. We all gasp with our chests and shoulders. In the singing workshop on Saturday, Sue taught abdominal breathing.

Let your belly hang out. Then pull your diaphragm in like a bellows forcing air out. When you relax again, air falls naturally into your belly.

Today I read, the same deep breathing counteracts anxiety.

Tonight I stood on the brink of sky, marvelling that vertigo didn't rise and drown me.