Water Where Trees Are

By: Cassandra Green

I must have been walking longer than I thought. To end up here, to lose track of time so easily. I hesitated to get any closer to the mirrored pond, but my stillness only mirrored it more; as if it met me right where I was at, or I met it.

The dry dirt beneath my feet had turned to mossy soil letting me know that we didn’t need introductions. Greetings had already been exchanged. This reflective ghost understood me and taunted my thoughts as I became acquainted. No sun, only reflection and haze. I accepted the invitation to cross.

My thoughts became steps, and each step tip toed across memories and cold water. My body felt numb. I didn’t want to step here. I wanted to run the other way. I needed to, but my mind wandered in. The reflections of a former sky met my shallow breath. 

Trees surrounded by water told a story that I wasn’t like them. One misstep and I might drown. Reaching branches spoke jagged warning, “drown maybe, or worse.” My thoughts fell back. One step and I could slide in. As if to fall into fog and never come back. To fall into old habits where I couldn’t weed my way out.

I didn’t want to be here, but my feet traced the edges of echoing memories and tempting waters, teasing to touch the reflective surface, daring the depth to pull me in with one slip, a single scream. Leaving ripples and silence to candy coat the moor.