July 9
The other option is acceptance. I’ve had a good run, this person says, and they drop their arms in defeat. It’s not a pathetic gesture, it’s one of nobility. Nobody likes a sore loser, and this type of person knows that fighting it means they’ll still lose, but they’ll be sore afterwards. To graciously give up is a sign of tranquility, of believing that their work is done on this earth, and that they go to a reward they have rightly earned– or a Hell of their own device. No matter their destination, they undertake the journey with a minimum of fuss.
Right now, today, I have no idea where I stand on the matter. And that, as if it weren’t possible, manages to scare me most of all.
A young woman wearing a simple blue sun dress approaches me. She looks familiar, but I can’t quite place her. “You look down,” she says. She’s no older than I am.
“Got a lot on my mind,” I say.
“I can imagine.” She seats herself next to me and sighs. “Aren’t fountains beautiful?”
“I suppose,” I say. “I’m not big on water.” It’s true. I never learned to swim. Oh God, am I gonna drown?
The woman laughs. “I suppose not,” she says, “but a fountain… the way the water is crafted, sculpted… I think it’s breathtaking. Have you ever seen a fountain flash-frozen?” I shake my head. “It’s the most fascinating thing. Each droplet of water stops dead in its tracks, every molecule halting its motion instantaneously, and the moment is captured. The tiniest droplets melt almost immediately, splashing the thicker ice, warming them. For a few moments, you can see the way the water sprays, can see each arc and vector.”
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