Words written to a dear, fellow traveler; shared with permission.
The world watches the boat on the horizon with longing, waiting out the sun’s setting on the Great Lake.
On another shoreline, the world wakes early to experience the sun’s rise, to admire the waves and their cadence, to listen as the gulls arrive and begin the long, summer day.
All together, the world takes a deep breath, and prepares for the revelers.
The revelers, who look with wonder at the ship on the horizon, waiting on the sunset; the revelers, who started their day before first light to see the sunrise, to hear only the sound of the waves, and to call out and welcome the gulls.
Most revelers don’t talk about the depth of the Lake.
They don’t dare acknowledge the darkness and danger below its surface; they speak not of its age, nor its horrors, nor its unforgiveness.
Because if they did, how then could they also wait so patiently for the sun to set?
And how could they wake so early—so assuredly—for its rise?
Lovely. I love brevity in writing. Saying oh so much with so few words. Here's to sunsets, to sunrises, and to always seeking them despite the insistence of others that the depths are sufficient reason to pay them no heed.
"All together, the world takes a deep breath, and prepares for the revelers."
Love that line. Loved many of the lines, but especially that one. The world expectantly waiting for those ready to meet it, early in the day, face to face.
Thanks for sharing!