Thursday: Protomedeia
You are new and high this morning. Intimidatingly high. You have pushed aside the land: rocks, logs and sand shifted. Anyone or anything in your way has been bulldozed or submerged. You have ended your boundary dispute with your neighbours, you win. I tiptoe on the narrow strip of land you have left me. I am off balance simply trying to look at you. I can’t stand far enough back to take you in. You are massive. I just stare into your unending blue. Under the darkest of dark skies you have emulsified the land, what a coup. My usual point of entry has disappeared, it will be straight in at the deep end today, or not at all. You dare me, you a huge iris that I can’t even trace the circumference of; me a speck that you could swallow or sweep aside as you chose. You out-stare me in an instant. I struggle to find a point, a detail, a spot I can fix upon to ground me. The rocks I usually swim around have disappeared, you have devoured them. Your absolute dominion is as impressive as it is scary. I enter. No easing in today. Arms out, legs kicking. It’s as if I am back in the little pool, a child battling with my armbands. I splash a lot. You are impervious. I dash into you and rush back out again. I stand on the strip you have allotted me. My breath is short. I trace your expanse again, you are unending. I stand up straight and meet you. I am replenished. You are magnificent. I nod to you and smile. You are quite something. And you know it.
EM Jones 