September 2010 Issue 102

by John Paul Newbury

Sit in a sheltered jetty that overlooks the local lake, as you pen the thoughts that accumulate on the walk to here. It is cool. The watered breeze marks the air. Somebody temporarily joins you, a walker or jogger, young female, singlet, black track pants and white runners, headphones in place, like you, stares out over the glistening surface, water bottle in hand, unsure whether to stay or continue the initial task. Black swans, several types of duck, coots and heron swim, come and go. The girl straddles the railing to be closer to the aquatic aviary. The music in your ears becomes livelier as a recently-deceased singer croons away in your impressionable mind. The legs cross and the upper foot swings in rhythm with the tune.

You have the iPod that your sister, one of the four, the youngest, bought for her older brother who heals and recovers from a stressful decade or two. You also have the book that receives your intense attention, a suggestion by the next sister in age, James Frey’s a million little pieces, a reflection of an addict, five hundred pages of a young shattered life that you assume rebuilds still. You do the usual scanning of the inside cover, the back, read all the blurbs, always positive, about the book and writer, when first published, by whom, the typical background knowledge in preparation that forms your own CIP, catalogue in publication, data. The girl still straddles and gazes. Does she file you accordingly?

A page begins and you smile that you are here, with your unknown companion, who de-straddles, begins to prepare for departure, you can see the tell-tale signs of readying motivation, like you try to muster before you walk into a room full of people. She departs. You thank her for remaining for as long as she does. Like a photo she will remain as a reminder to a time before.

The black swan is a majestic bird. You now see that they are more than black, a layer of white feathers dwells underneath their wings. They float by with a royal wave, and occasionally tilt forward into a quick dive to feed on the mossy bottom of the lake. The black swans are the leaders with the ducks, herons and coots following respectfully behind. They are the keepers of the lake. You love that humans have no access to the lake, which demands a future. It belongs to nobody and people are fortunate to be entitled to the occasional viewing. How wonderful it is to simply be, to watch the ripples and the birds, to hear the calls and to somehow ignore the human sounds, while admiring all that you see, to take your eyes in thrall. Something that adds to this experience is being a long distance from any human, you can see them, you can see their houses, you can see their cars, yet you are invisible. Viewed from a distance you are a pylon on this jetty, part of the structure, and to remain so until you leave.

© John Paul Newbury 2010

This entry was posted by jpnewbury on Monday, March 1st, 2010 at 12:00 am and is filed under Reflection. You can be notified of any comments on this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment in the box at the bottom of the post.

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