The Ferryman paints rays of red and black rising from my eyes, arching across my brow. He runs his finger down the memory braid the Wellspring left in my hair. “Now you’re ready,” he says.
I lift my arms, face the far shore, open my mouth and sing. I step forward into the current. The river rocks settle under my feet. The water is fast and icy. I sing. The fish in the river answer me, silver flashes in the dark. The birds in the trees rise in answer. A shower of bloom moves through the branches. The ones who move on padded paws answer, and the flying bugs, the singing bugs, the legged ones, the larva, all life turns and blooms and I am thankful for all of this. I am nourished by all of this. I am thankful.
Let my every gesture be a resonance of thanks.