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 tu 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. tu 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 tu 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 parte superior, arriba 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 o 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. tu 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 tu 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 parte superior, arriba 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 o 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.
