Diamonds on Water

Another lifetime ago I was a child wandering through idyllic, endless summer days.  I was given very few responsibilities at the lake, and there were no young playmates nearby.  As a result, I enjoyed plenty of precious time – hours upon hours for discovery and contemplation. 

The lake had many moods, many personalities.  I loved them all: lazy, busy, angry, sleepy, friendly.  But most of all, the lake was always accessible. Constant. Honest. Loyal.  Steadfast.  Faithful.  I needed a best friend, and the lake agreed to be just that.

We played together for hours every day.  Sometimes I jumped into sun-struck waves, tumbling and rolling in unison with them.  Other days I submerged myself in silky calmness and stirred mirrored clouds with my finger, surrounded by serenity. 

The lake introduced me to countless friends, our neighbors in the shallows: live clams and snails, beautiful rocks and curious fossils. It taught me to rely on misty sunrises over the swamp, and vibrant sunsets that splattered over the water like spilled paint.

I relished the power of the wind in my face as storms rolled across the lake from the northwest, pushing white caps until they smacked our seawall and exploded into millions of flying droplets.  Then as lightning and thunder receded, absolute peace fell heavy in the stillness of the aftermath.  Surely this place was hope personified, a taste of heaven.

In those days, I used to think the sun poured diamonds on the water – that it spilled the contents of a huge treasure chest at noon to fill the lake with light, and dripped a trail of leftovers to create a sparkly royal carpet come evening.  Sometimes, like today, I still do.