qarrtsiluni

Along the edge of our pond is a small platform that extends out over water. At its base is attached a floodlight mere inches above water level so that at night a beam directed to the opposite shore grazes the pond’s surface. Light shines across still water that was warmed by daytime’s hot sun but that now, in darkness, is blanketed by cool and heavy night air. A silent white mist, diaphanous and phantom-like, slides over the glassy plane. The ghostly vapor careens across slick liquid, for a time in one direction, then in another, in response to causes I can neither see nor feel. It swirls and spikes and gathers itself into chimerical amorphous plumes. And it rises, disappearing into empty darkness above.

Our pond ascends to sky.

by Robert McGowan

Read by Beth Adams — Download the MP3

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