I don’t want to get up. Why would I even think about it, at four AM on a Saturday? I don’t know. Something just calls. Scorpio, it whispers, Come to me. Come to me, and you will be free.
Who are you? Where do I go? I call out sleepily. The shout is only in my head, but I feel it goes out into the darkness all the same.
You will know, Scorpio. You will know what to do. Go to the river, it beckons. So I teeter down the stairs, fully clothed, in a dreamlike state.
What kind of crazy person am I? I ask myself. Not an unreasonable question, considering I’m going to a river because a voice in my head told me to. This is the kind of thinking that sends you to an insane asylum. But still, I plod forward, opening the door quietly, and stepping over our threshold. Barefoot.
Wandering down the street, I see the moon shining over me, above me, in the sky. I am following the moon, closer to the universe than ever before. Soon, I am standing on the topo, início of The Bridge Over Skywater.
The Skywater River was named in Native American times, my father told me when I was young. Back then, it was called, “Buegoneguig”, which is Chippewa for “hole in the sky”. I guess they held ceremonies here or something. I would. Anyone would, had they seen the way the stars sparkled on its surface that night. It was like the sky was calling to me. The water called with it. Together, they beckoned me out onto the water.
I stood on the edge of the bridge, my toes curled around the edge. I let the power of the night lap over me, like the water at the river’s banks. And I dove.
I didn’t think, I just jumped. The cold water engulfed me. The light of the moon shone upon me as I resurfaced, feeling stronger than I ever had. The river’s pull didn’t seem to try and take me anywhere, just freezing this moment, perfect, of a girl in a river under a silver sky.
Who are you? Where do I go? I call out sleepily. The shout is only in my head, but I feel it goes out into the darkness all the same.
You will know, Scorpio. You will know what to do. Go to the river, it beckons. So I teeter down the stairs, fully clothed, in a dreamlike state.
What kind of crazy person am I? I ask myself. Not an unreasonable question, considering I’m going to a river because a voice in my head told me to. This is the kind of thinking that sends you to an insane asylum. But still, I plod forward, opening the door quietly, and stepping over our threshold. Barefoot.
Wandering down the street, I see the moon shining over me, above me, in the sky. I am following the moon, closer to the universe than ever before. Soon, I am standing on the topo, início of The Bridge Over Skywater.
The Skywater River was named in Native American times, my father told me when I was young. Back then, it was called, “Buegoneguig”, which is Chippewa for “hole in the sky”. I guess they held ceremonies here or something. I would. Anyone would, had they seen the way the stars sparkled on its surface that night. It was like the sky was calling to me. The water called with it. Together, they beckoned me out onto the water.
I stood on the edge of the bridge, my toes curled around the edge. I let the power of the night lap over me, like the water at the river’s banks. And I dove.
I didn’t think, I just jumped. The cold water engulfed me. The light of the moon shone upon me as I resurfaced, feeling stronger than I ever had. The river’s pull didn’t seem to try and take me anywhere, just freezing this moment, perfect, of a girl in a river under a silver sky.
Life, he believes, is not a dream
As black as the wise men say they are.
Often a gray morning
Foreshadows a pleasant afternoon and soalhenta.
Sometimes there are dark clouds
But it is only on certain days;
If rain makes the rosas bloom
Why mourn and not smile?
Quickly, happily
The soalhentas hours of life go by
Thankfully, excitedly
Enjoy them as they go flying.
And sometimes when Death appears
And the best that you have gone?
And when the pain deepens
And hope it sinks won?
Oh, even then, there is hope of rebirth
Unconquerable, never die.
Happy with his golden wing
Strong enough to make us feel good
Boldly, afraid of nothing
Face the Judgement dia coming.
For gloriously, victoriously
Courage can overcome despair.
As black as the wise men say they are.
Often a gray morning
Foreshadows a pleasant afternoon and soalhenta.
Sometimes there are dark clouds
But it is only on certain days;
If rain makes the rosas bloom
Why mourn and not smile?
Quickly, happily
The soalhentas hours of life go by
Thankfully, excitedly
Enjoy them as they go flying.
And sometimes when Death appears
And the best that you have gone?
And when the pain deepens
And hope it sinks won?
Oh, even then, there is hope of rebirth
Unconquerable, never die.
Happy with his golden wing
Strong enough to make us feel good
Boldly, afraid of nothing
Face the Judgement dia coming.
For gloriously, victoriously
Courage can overcome despair.
A child huddles in a corner,
dirty and tired and alone.
He's too skinny, too tired, too pale.
But nobody notices.
His coração breaks
as he watches the blurry-shaped people
walk past,
without glancing at him.
Screams echo off the cold walls surrounding him.
Not just his;
There's a few voices in that howl.
But they fall on deaf ears.
Hours pass. Days pass. People pass.
Still, nobody glances his way.
Darkness begins to creep in,
Bringing two anjos with tear stained faces and heavy wings.
Silence has brought this,
and por the time people notice
it's too late.
The three anjos have already left.
dirty and tired and alone.
He's too skinny, too tired, too pale.
But nobody notices.
His coração breaks
as he watches the blurry-shaped people
walk past,
without glancing at him.
Screams echo off the cold walls surrounding him.
Not just his;
There's a few voices in that howl.
But they fall on deaf ears.
Hours pass. Days pass. People pass.
Still, nobody glances his way.
Darkness begins to creep in,
Bringing two anjos with tear stained faces and heavy wings.
Silence has brought this,
and por the time people notice
it's too late.
The three anjos have already left.