Riggwelter #2

Page 38

There Will Be Tides

Then, in September, she was gone. Her going was absolute. She spoke of how the weight of her spirit would be carried by tides. She would be propelled hither and yon, pitching up on the shore of some other person’s life. She would float away from them too, become a drifting presence for many: an itch on the scalp, a tickle on the neck. With the phases of the moon she would be displaced, fall to the mercy of its pulls, experience arrivals as a consequence of the weather. With the hunter’s moon she would find a new path and walk it for some little distance, only to become lost again, all the while falling away from me. Only on the equinox would she rise again, to come as close as the prison of her state would allow. I would feel her then, for a moment, on that fulcrum of the year. All in all, though, she would still not be here. We, as much at the mercy of the tides as she, would have to carry on.

Peter Haynes