Ripples

The glass spreads

in my sight, shimmering.

It’s so smooth and still

I can see my face. And

so I sit on the banks

of the stagnant world

below me and close my

eyes. I listen to the

birds, who sing of

the dawn and the dusk.

I feel the cool breeze as

it encases me in its purity.

And then my hand brushes

something smooth, so

smooth and soft but

solid. I lift the object up high

but my eyelids remain shut.

A pebble. All it takes is a

pebble in the water

to make the biggest wave.

I’ve heard that a butterfly’s

wings can cause a hurricane,

cause such disaster that no

one stops to think of the

butterfly. But a shatter in

the glass, a simple ripple in

the water will not hurt. I

ay my head down against

the rough bark of a willow

and I release my shining

soldier into the glassy

wonder-land of stillness.

My eyes snap open. A

ring. Two. Three. Four.

A natural disaster now

rests on my shoulders.

But the ripples make me

feel safe in the comfort

of the forest. My eyes

start to close, content.

And at the moment a

permanent sleep forms,

I hear the splash of a

pebble, another one, just

around the river bend.

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