Black Lake

16Feb2010

I remember that cold winter
when the lake was absolutely still.
Cold, deep cold, slowing it like molasses or syrup
so that even the slow rockings ceased
and it looked like a silver placid mirror under gray heaven
Not a wave. Not a ripple.
And overnight, in that perfect stillness, it froze
untouched by wind, too small to be turned by the lunar tidal force
So that in the morning, and the day after, and the day after
it froze deeper and harder
like folded steel
or plate glass.
Absolutely still.

I remember how we went out on it, at night
shuffling along on the blackness. Pure, unadulterated blackness
without crack or frozen ripple, without bumps or imperfections
In places, sometimes so smooth you could see the stars reflected on it.
I remember we all moved apart
to experience it alone
and I stood over my dark little piece and stared down
down and down
trying to see the bottom
trying to see anything
and I realized I was staring up
at reflected space
millions of lightyears of time and dust
bouncing off that perfect ice and up into my eyes
How I squatted down
limiting my vision
so that neither the shoreline nor the island nor any of the lights could interfere in my peripherals.
Still
just a pure, smooth blackness reflecting the stars
Vertigo struck
 strongly
I felt weak, and turned
revolved
as though trapped on some outer edge of the expanding cosmos.
as though I must hang on to the Earth herself or be thrown, to skid
I leaned my body against the invisible threat
staring, unblinking down into that ice
staring
wheeling
staring
until the magic passed
and the moment was done
and we all shuffled silently back towards home.

All this I remember
on that vast black nowhere place
between the shoreline
and eternity.