The Life of Water

Sitting at the edge of a lake. Silence. The only sound daring to interrupt is that of the gentle waves lashing onto the shore. A momentous rhythm, as if the spaced clashing comes from the very core of this body of water. As if it is a calm heart beating against itself. The wind is bitter, carrying the dew of night meeting day. Silence. It opens the door to reverie and memories forgotten. The water eroding the rocks. Rocks from a crumbled mountain, of times when the world was not this world. Each particle is carrying a story. Each wave is stealing them into the depth of the ocean. Another part is taken away... another thought... another memory. Some might say, it's just a lake, and those are just rocks. It is a lake, and those are rocks, yet they hold alot more of something than we ever will. They hold time. They outlive us. They carry with them our presence, the presence of those before us, and the presence of the future. A fingerprint. A laugh. A tear. A memory. A life.

- The Product of Writer's Block