Cheryl Ferguson Bernini
Adrift It is in the hands of nature and fate that I arrive. The sun is full and brilliant. Its heat passes into the depths of the water and warms me. I’ve returned to a familiar place that transforms with every season. I cannot be certain what exactly is being altered; but I know it, I can feel it. I’ve lost a scale or two on more than one occasion. The river’s mouth opens before us, but our arrival is untimely and we must wait until the tide turns to assist us once again. Water carries not only vitality but destruction. Objects. These relentless things. Although I am only a small fish, I understand. There is something not quite right. An avalanche of discarded bottles and wrap and plastic waste gradually descends. This false earth is overtaking the river. Stress. Distress. I spin, only to find myself one against thousands. Pushing, thrusting, fins and tails pummel my body. I force myself ever forward, towards the sea. The swells part before me, and I venture into deeper waters.
34 |
antilang. no. 6
