I’m not doing nothing.

I keep blowing out little globules of possibility, denser than soap bubbles, more like fish eggs, they cluster and cloud me.

“Hey.” The Ferryman touches a finger to my heart, steadies me. I’ve gotten a little crackily with it, blowing out more and more and still no traveling movement, no established trajectories. The Ferryman anchors me now. I breathe and take stock.

I’m at the starting gate. The gate is open. I am webbed-up in a froth of possibility-eggs. Beyond the gate is inscrutable darkness. The eggs glisten and gleam. How can I begin to move?

I hunker down, blow into the dark just in front of my feet. The dark slips back like a curtain. A stone appears, a warm sandy glow. A first step. All around and beyond it the darkness remains insubstantial, unspoken.

I try to step out, but it’s not my step. It’s the River King’s step. Where is he? Swathed in egg bubbles, buried in all my hopeful noise. I blow to clear him, apologize for the mess of my enthusiasms. But it’s not for nothing. He has swallowed a few bright eggs. They have nourished him, kindled something hopeful in him. He steps to the gate. Will he chose the step I have revealed? Maybe. Maybe not. Some step must be taken. Will we go together? Yes. Will I lead? No. He will step first. My job is to keep blowing away the darkness ahead and feeding him these baubly eggs, feeding him yes.

Everything we’ve ever been through together, every fight, every loss, every laugh has been in support of this moment. He hesitates at the threshold, feet solid planted in the past. With all the love in my heart, I bend and blow-out the old ground underfoot. Gone to black. Poof.

“Step now. I’m with you. Step now.”

OOO