Just like this, she would call to the children before closing her eyes and putting her head back into the water.
They lay on their stomachs at the end of the pier and watched as their mother sank deeply into meditation while her legs slowly moved from beneath the water and floated to the top. Her arms spread out from her body and relaxed into position. Her fingers moved in rhythm with the small ripples lapping toward the shore. When larger waves came, pushing the water toward her, the angles of her body surfed what came her way. It seemed that her hair tried to follow the waves as it fanned out as far as it could before bidding farewell to caressing splashes.
Aren't you afraid? The water is so dark! (her young son)
How do you do it; how do you stay up? (her tiny daughter)
Silence smiled. (no replies, so deep was her relaxation)
The children thought her so beautiful, their mother. But she seemed to belong less to them when she bobbed in the water and they gazed down from the pier. It was as if each time she went out there to float they lost her a bit more, as if a drop more of her love stayed out there when she returned to them.
Toweling off, she would shake her head to release water from her ears and her hair would send sprays that dotted the dry planks of wood underfoot. The sparkle of moonlight in her eyes was what the children searched for then, for when they saw it they knew she was back with them.
Howdoyoustayupinthewatersodarkhowdoyoufloataren'tyouafraid? they asked again and again.
They waited for the same mysterious answer she always gave, the words that both assured and excited them:
There is nothing to fear. Many are there to hold and protect me.
Visit The Mag to read other Mag 104s inspired by the photo prompt above (image by Christophe Gilbert).