Dating the Lake
I did this a while back, but I want to write about it before the details get blurry...
About a year and a half ago I made a month-long commitment to get to know my local body of water. I called it "Dating the Lake" and I approached it with serious playfulness. One day, after work i took a shower, dressed in colors I thought the lake would like (blues and gray), I brought a flower. I stood at the shore and told the lake of my intentions. She was agreeable. She asked that I see her beauty, that I visit her beaches, and write her a poem.
For the next month, I saw her a few times a week, riding my bike on the path around her shore. Visiting the public beaches, boat landings and parks. On weekend mornings, bringing my coffee and sitting on the large rocks at her edge. I saw her different colors, blues, browns and grays. I saw her moods, still and placid, pleasantly wavy, or rough and choppy. Sometimes we mirrored each other's moods.
One day it started to rain when I was a mile and a half from my house. The rain became a dark downpour but I kept riding, slowly, looking over the tops of my glasses to see. As I rode home drenched, as soaked as I could be, I felt an intimacy with the lake. There was no difference between us. We were both water.
As my month drew to a close, I wrote the promised poem. I went to her shore with a jar, to invite her to spend a day at my house. I read the poem to her beauty and invited her home. She agreed. I reached in and filled my jar, to take her home. I showed her where I live, she accompanied me as I worked on my art, I moved her among my altars. After a day I read my poem of her beauty again and returned her to her home.
This was intended to be a month-long relationship. We've remained friends.
About a year and a half ago I made a month-long commitment to get to know my local body of water. I called it "Dating the Lake" and I approached it with serious playfulness. One day, after work i took a shower, dressed in colors I thought the lake would like (blues and gray), I brought a flower. I stood at the shore and told the lake of my intentions. She was agreeable. She asked that I see her beauty, that I visit her beaches, and write her a poem.
For the next month, I saw her a few times a week, riding my bike on the path around her shore. Visiting the public beaches, boat landings and parks. On weekend mornings, bringing my coffee and sitting on the large rocks at her edge. I saw her different colors, blues, browns and grays. I saw her moods, still and placid, pleasantly wavy, or rough and choppy. Sometimes we mirrored each other's moods.
One day it started to rain when I was a mile and a half from my house. The rain became a dark downpour but I kept riding, slowly, looking over the tops of my glasses to see. As I rode home drenched, as soaked as I could be, I felt an intimacy with the lake. There was no difference between us. We were both water.
As my month drew to a close, I wrote the promised poem. I went to her shore with a jar, to invite her to spend a day at my house. I read the poem to her beauty and invited her home. She agreed. I reached in and filled my jar, to take her home. I showed her where I live, she accompanied me as I worked on my art, I moved her among my altars. After a day I read my poem of her beauty again and returned her to her home.
This was intended to be a month-long relationship. We've remained friends.