The Hush, the Night, and the Light

The sound was there, not quite wind, not quite waves, but something there beyond the small spur of land that separated the lagoon from the lake. The clouds covered the moon, but the snow shimmered iridescently over the ice of the lagoon anyways. The geese called from the shore’s edge, to the left of my dock, where the lake let into the lagoon. Or, rather, where the lagoon let out into the lake. All was still. The hush of the wind, the call of the geese, the soft rustling of some small creature in the underbrush. The small, sharp snowflakes hit my face when I turned to look past the isthmus and into the lake, making me turn my face skyward and to the covered moon. It was wonderful, how the lake just disappeared, fading into the snow so that it seemed to be the edge of the world if you wandered onto the isthmus. The hush remained. The wind. The waves. A whisper. It was there, and yet, all was silent on the lake. That didn’t include me, my knees shivering together in the cold and my breath rushing little clouds into being before my face. I was an intruder. The night was not mine, but I was allowed, peacefully, to observe its splendor. A slight breeze ruffled my coat, catching the few loose wisps of my hair and brushing them across my face. I was not used to my hair being this short; it always fell from my ponytail. The breeze caught it again, playing. The shoes I was wearing, my mother’s shoes, which were too large for my small feet, scuffed against the dock. The silence was disturbed. My eyes flicked to the undergrowth, where the small creature’s pulse could be felt vibrating through the earth. The earth, its pulse, all one beat. One pulse. It was caught in the hush, the pulse, and I. It reverberated in my own chest, calling my breath forth more quietly, more heatedly, more frozen than it had been before. The clouds in front of my face ceased, the air still moving in and out of my lungs, but silent, and voiceless. The geese continued to call, drawing my attention. It had been too long, taken too long, for them to fly ahead of the cold. They were now trapped, only to call vainly to the moon for warmth. My mouth moved to form words in a reply, but again the hush moved quickly, catching the sound of my words and carrying them away before they left my throat. The pulse. It grew fainter in the geese. I called back to them in vain, more cold flakes of snow brushing my face as the pulse grew fainter. It slowed. In the small creature of the underbrush as it fell into its winter’s sleep. The pulse slowed, and paused, waiting for the next beat of the geese, though it never came. My breath caught, the hush taking the very air from my lungs as I tried to call for the geese. I turned from that side of the lagoon, my gaze resting once again on the edge of the world, past the small isthmus. My breath returned, not gasping, not feebly, but just as if resumed from a paused scene. The hush of the wind, the soft roar of the waves, the slow pulse of the earth. A light, creeping onto the horizon, the sun’s approach. The hush could not escape, stood no chance against the effervescent light. The moon returned, its glow still hidden by the clouds, who had begun to form themselves once again in front of my face. The glow of the sun, the slow pulse of the small creature, the exultant call of the geese. My heart leaped, my face turning back to the shores, the edge of the world having been lost to the light of the sun. My voice was caught again, but this time by the calming light of the sun, the knowledge of the earth restored. The light.