The Weight of Still Water

There is a particular silence that belongs only to the water before the wind wakes. It is a heavy, grey quiet. You stand at the edge, and for a moment, the boundary between the air and the lake dissolves. You are not looking at a reflection; you are looking at the underside of the world. We spend our lives moving, stirring the surface, desperate to leave a ripple that proves we were here. But the water does not care for our movement. It waits. It holds the mist like a secret it has no intention of sharing. To be still is not to be empty. It is to be full of everything that has not yet happened. When the sun finally breaks the horizon, the illusion will shatter, and the day will demand its due. But for this one breath, the world is held in suspension. What remains of us when we stop trying to be seen?

James L. Brown has captured this suspended breath in his image titled On Golden Pond. It is a reminder of what happens when we simply wait for the light to find us. Does the water feel different to you today?