Crossing

It was nearly dusk and the day’s sun with its last reserve breathed out light. A light that little by little was losing its redness as if an oil lamp burned without oil and smoked and a bruise-blue layer of its soot clung to the glass devouring the light. In this way the sun slowly, slowly drew back and handful by handful the soot-dust over its empty place was scattered over the body of the forest over the body of the man over the body of the river. Now, “What is to be done?” The man stood and looked kept watch on all around and broke off a branch threw himself into the water the water was strong and its coldness cut sharp to the marrow. The wild current did not spare the man’s pack it snatched it swiftly and carried it off and stray strands of algae became a weight around his neck - slippery on his cold, bare shoulders. He tore them off in anger flung them far across the water with the tangled waves another strand rushed in rubbed itself with its slime on the man’s chest the man shuddered at the smell of carrion. On the slippery stones he took a step the opposing wave drove him back he fell back, went under in the muddy water with his staff he searched for other fords he took two steps forward he fell one step back he forced himself to his feet on the sliding bed twisted in the waves and turned forward again... in his mind a lantern and a map took shape... In the cold half-light amid the hard fists of the waves a body was moving and pressing forward - heavy and slow - clinging to its shoulders and hands and ears masses of dark algae...