Not Today

This is what comes from the moment; this is what turns back from the open sky and away from the sea of possibilities that laps against the shore of the now. We have walked these beaches so often before. Each time, your eyes turn towards the distant horizon where the sky meets the sea. You long to be back there, riding the waves and diving deeper than I have ever known into a world I cannot touch. Meanwhile, I trap you here on the dry land, hoping the memories of your water-born freedom will fade, until you know longer know how to dive deep into the seas that lie forever beyond my reach.

I have woken alone in the night to see you silhouetted against the moonlit window, watching the waves flickering in the moonlight. Longing for your home, until I call your land name and you return to our bed with one last lingering glance over your shoulder to what was once the only life you knew.

Then, each morning, I turn first to make sure you remain here on my dry land. I know one morning I will wake to find you gone. I will never know if you could ever return to such a dry life once you have dived deep again and swum out across that moonlight sea into a far freedom beyond the reach of land. Lost far beyond any horizon I could ever see from where I stand.

I know now that one morning I must take you down to the beach, to the edge of your sea and then let you go. I just hope, each morning, as I turn to you in our bed, that today is not that day.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US)]