Running into water usually conjures up thoughts of summer and overheated bodies cascading into frothing breakers in an imagined plume of relieved steam, but in my usual way I have tilted this phrase just slightly to suit a moment of personal reflection. This time the phrase shifts the emphasis from the action to the object, which if you think about the beach dash, the water really should be the emphasis rather than the gangly metamorphosis of land creatures into wanna be amphibians. Really the shift that causes me to pause most often is that quarter turn of perception to consider something from a different angle. This time it was the shift from the action of photography to the object of the photo, from f-stops, exposures and filters to the incessant rushing of moving water seeking to fulfill its most reasonably mandated quest for lower ground. A wondrously simple yet monumentally transformational process that serves as a natural timepiece complete with its own perpetually rhythmic cadence.
When I come near water I am magnetically drawn to it. It is impossible for me to ignore. Impossible not to try and find a way to gaze at it at the very least. The draw becomes exponentially irresistible if it is moving water. The sounds wash over me like a wind over a taut wire drawing out what was never there before the two met. The song that distracts from the tensions and the breath that forms more than just a sigh.
Life is full of these for each of us. These moments that tug at the curtains. The light that seeks to dispel the darkness. I believe this not because my simple little life of relative ease has shown it to me, but because of the stories of those who have endured the unimaginable darkness that the hands of humans have imposed upon another. Their stories that still proclaim the presence of light in the midst of such all consuming blackness. The stories that remind me that the darkness has neither understood nor overcome the light. This is why I run to the water.