Across the water

I want to talk about pausing. I want to talk about what it feels like to wake up and fall back asleep because you have the whole day to fill. I want to talk about how the light changes with the hours, with the seasons. I want to talk about hearts, how it seems so many are open. How so many are being shared with each other these days.
I want to talk about water, how soothing it is to hear it lapping at a shoreline. How frightening it can be when whipped into a frenzy. How, in general, nature is neither good nor bad. How the reaction to what happens to us builds our world. 
I write this too you from the floor. A rug beneath me. My computer just a reach away. I hear birds. I see sunlight, it’s soft but present. I feel…something but I cannot say what. Perhaps spring? Perhaps rest? Perhaps this sore throat? Perhaps.
Between me and you, a bridge of our making. It takes time to build, to learn to cross it. To make it back and forth safely in all weather and darkness. But it’s worth building. If only to look at and say-once where there was nothing- two distance shorelines; there is now a place to meet in the middle. A nod of the head. A hand grasped completely, engulfed in promise. The moment my head touched your shoulder for the first time and sank there like an anchor in the middle of the sea.