I kneel at the river’s edge, dip my hand into the cold flowing, cup the water and carry it to my face. The water is full of light and clarity.
I think that this is all, this kneeling and receiving the blessing of water, but there is movement on the far shore, a calling. Deerman waits. The Ferryman takes my hand to help me cross. Our feet lift and we begin to drift out over the water. I look at the Ferryman in wonder at this. He grins. “There are many ways of crossing.”
But then, something big intercepts our passage. The River King turned to stone. Huge and gray, he rises up in the middle of the river.
I cannot move him. I cannot pass.
I will be the water to his grieving. I will stand beside him saying ever, “Yes it is so. And yes we can bear it.” The infinite return of water, renewing ever the touch of yes, yes, yes.