Immersion in one’s self/Self can be tiring. It can feel like sinking into the waves of deep navy blue mentioned in the poem below, “The Horizon,” like I just want to stop treading and breathe.
It also can bring the light and airy freedom of that which rises above those waves. The horizon is the gauzy line we often walk between the two.
A boy at El Pelícano says the sea, the block of deep navy blue that lives past the foam and curls and runs long to the horizon, looks like it’s standing up, and that on its shoulders rises the pale of the ethereal sky.
I look at the hard line that parts the air and the water and the pale and the deep, and see the colors through efforts and talents of dreamers, the painters and poets who cast the magic of light and life through brushes and ink tips.
How far must one swim to see the horizon up close? I ask the young boy. The difference between wet and dry, breath and life? He says, I will not answer your question.
And I know he speaks the truth.
Other projects I have in the works: Humanitou conversations, portraits of nature, poetry of nature and writing yoga. I also am a content partner of the Cultural Office of the Pikes Peak Region and PeakRadar.com. #showyourwork