The old man and the tarn…

For Paul Besley… — inspired by him, his writing, and a recent visit to Eel Tarn.

As the Sun also rises, so the Moon rests. Its waning glow, low in the mauve sky as it drew the Man here, has departed. But he still feeds off its allure as his pulse climbs, and he pauses, breathing hard, summoning support, as well as the air he so craves. He moves on to meet the dawn, pushing his body well beyond the valley-bound limits it frequently fights to meet. This race was too urgent to refuse, and all obstacles must be overcome, or sidelined.

Few creatures stir so early, the young calves so puzzled by his appearance that they cannot label him good nor bad, so regard him as both. Finally, they return to their cud-chewing amongst the muddy grass. Even after such a long absence of rain, some becks still happily feed the ground. The Man tracks this one eagerly; then turns from it to face down the radiant horizon.

⁋

He is late. As he reaches the plateau, his shadow takes form behind him. Lungs once more easy, heart quiet, he accelerates, and marches off towards their promised conflux. It is twenty years since he last walked here, angered by love. There was no such light that day.

Apart from his murmurs, and the mire’s suckle at distracted steps, all that sound are birds. The geese he remembers still squabble, beating the water as they repeatedly rise in imagined domination. Their droplets grasp the back-light, cascade, and scatter sparks as embers do to the gentle hand of the wind.

Although it bathes his raw body in a tearful beauty, he wonders if this place is forbidding for some. Choosing a careful rock, he sits and absorbs it all, thirstful for so long of the high places. This is paradise. He never wants to leave. He will return.

⁋

Twenty years on, the Woman comes with him, saturated with love. She too sees only wonder. She holds out a moist finger to hush the breeze; opens the small box she carries, and offers it to the mounting Moon. The birds no longer call. The soul of the Man is in her heart, but his body remains, hanging above the tarn, soon scattering light like the morning mist. In this sacred moment, the Woman prays, held still by the silence she must soon leave behind with her promise. Ashamed of that it espies, the Sun goes to ground.