River

Approaching river, human stops in fear. Not surprising: strong flow, so attractive from afar, from close distance can appear terrifying. Especially for one who has a hunch that he will have to enter the river.

Many years later he will not be able to recall those moments of fear and arousal. Will not be able to see the world with the same view as he sees it now. Will not be able to imagine what does it mean to enter the river.

But now human stands on grassy shore, doubtfully watching stormy stream, flowing from nowhither to nowhere. In the river, here and there, flicker fish fins, float by logs and branches, lean out and dive again someones’ wet heads.

Subconsciously human understands that he is one of them, alike wet head in the expanses of universe, but cannot fully accept and feel it. From the shore they look so tiny and fleeting. From here human is more ready to believe in kinship with multi-century oaks or young birches: they are like him, leisurely standing in full height, not dashing with unthinkable speed of the stream, creatures.

And still he makes another step. Cold river breeze blows round him, sways his hair, cools his flushed mind. Initial fear goes away, but arousal and wariness doesn’t leave him. Human slowly makes next step.

And another one.

And another.

With every step the river enchants him still more. It becomes still harder to tear gaze away from the stream and look down at his feet. After a few steps human stumbles and clumsily falls on wet soil — only at the last moment does rosehip bush catches him by the hand and human hardly manages to keep balance.

For these few moments grip of the river weakens. But having learned its icy temptation, how can he resist? Empty hopes. Yet again human raises his eyes onto raging waters and yet again falls into their sweet, exciting captivity.

He does not resist. His fear — the only thing that could have stopped him — withered to the size of sand grain and no longer rules the human.

Yet again he lifts leg and makes a step.

And another one.

And another.

And now the river swashes about at his feet, water splashes are falling on his face, awakening ancient instinct. And still, arriving at the edge, he stops again.

It’s not about fear at all. Simply, before entering this new, unexplored path, he has to part with the past. The very idea of parting is for him as new as the river, which he has to enter. And thus he lingers, vainly trying to make sense of this unavoidable change, to remember at least something from previous life, before the past will shatter into myriads of shards.

To him, the fear of forgetting is still unknown, he feels only light anxiety, not understanding its reason. And if he would understand, what would he be able to do?

He will have time to regret about this unavoidable choice, but now he opens eyes and makes yet another step. Cold water burns his foot, but human does not stop, and on the contrary speeds up steps and now after a few seconds he is in the water up to knee.

And then up to waist.

And then up to chest.

And then the stream catches him up and he rushes down the flow, away from familiar soil, away from weeping willows and ferns, away from the past that slips into darkness.