The Fountain

The breeze brushed the sleeping water into ripples, sending an effusion of embraces around the granite rocks. Beneath me, the granite was smooth, cold. The reflection of the hunter in the sky was startling, he knew where I sat. If I looked close enough, he faded and the black granite fountain bottom appeared. All around me he came, and the rocks joined us. We were wrapped in the night, a thick shawl of moss. Resisting, I let him near, still held by the sleeping branches and the stone. His words steadily washed over the rocks, over the twigs, over the sharp places. I rested. There, within me, deep silent pools were uncovered. Bramble pulled back, and I was home, in his arms.