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On the Water

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Pre-dawn Light

I stood in the predawn light and shivered with cold delight…waiting for dawn to come. I drank moonlight off the water, late October’s full, unbottled beam. The frosted sky, lit from behind, laid a deep hue across the steel canvas of pastel mountains, blue-gray and lavender with fading luminescence stair-stepping into mystic distance. A blanket of dark cotton lay over the farthest hills. The moon’s white face broke on wavelets of breeze and danced across the mirrored surface.     Warren Island sat quietly, without protest below the moon, asleep like some great steamer moored in the night. A few land-based stars of yard lights marked habitations of man without twinkle. This early morning view of Pend Oreille was all that stood between God and I.

    I want to consume moments like this, etch them into memory, plate them in permanency so that I can carry them, call them up and see them in other moments when strife and life consume me. But I can’t always. They are generally not for the taking, only for the experience it seems. Moments like that, so indefinably pure, so transitory and yet mending of soul, are felt too seldom, enjoyed not enough.

    Turning my back, I walk off the beach across the frost-covered lawn to my house. It’s 5:00 AM. I will go into my day remembering the better parts of this night watch, cradling its peace in my heart. But there is great contrast in the world: somewhere in the east a deadly sniper stalked a terrified public. Further east still and quite to the south a war stirs for the same reason: because others have chosen not to see these things, have never felt them surely, have hardened their hearts to the divine creation set before us. How is it that anyone can pass through life seemingly unaffected by the beauty of this universe? How can they forsake the eternal glory for the temporal glorifications of self?

    We stand in the predawn light and shiver with cold and fright…waiting for dawn to come…because the callous cannot see, care not to see, choose not.

What will the light of day bring to you? Will it bring insight, understanding, compassion and love? Or will it bring hatred, heartless, deceiving and lacking?

    I turn at my door and look again at the heavens holding the moon there for me alone. I thank God who created it. I thank him that I’m alive and awake to enjoy his creation and that such a scene affects me in this way.

    I am like the lake, I conclude, still unpolluted for the most part, refusing to accept the refuse of life, wanting to flow clean and meaningfully for those who would use me, have me and know me.


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Dwayne Parsons Dwayne Parsons

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