And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light.

Early, on a bright sunny morn, free of burden or worry,
a child laughs and plays amongst nature’s wonders;
she wades on the river’s murky, shallow waters,
a kick, a splash – see the ripples foam around her toes –
lifts her gaze to where sky and water meet
and prompted by sudden curiosity, ponders:
 “Where does the tide comes from?

Mesmerized by the river’s lazy roll, she doesn’t see
small burnt sienna ripples rapidly gaining strength.
She sees them rolling and giggles as she wanders,
dipping her hands in the water, running, splashing
and letting it fall on her face – her own version of rain.

But tiny ripples soon turn into swells;
She sees them advance, feels their strength
as they come closer and closer to her
and very quickly rise to her waist.

She panics. 

She’s never known the river like this;
she fears the water will swallow her, she’ll die.
She tries running toward the river’s edge
struggling against the current but it overpowers her;
arms spread and swinging wild, she tries to get out;
she screams – can’t swim – she screams again
until exhausted, she finally gives up the fight. 

The water wins.

She can no longer see the muddy riverbed and
her foot’s caught on roots and branches
she cannot free herself and to no avail,
screams for help again, and again.

No one hears her plea.

She stands now with water slapping her chin,
as night falls quickly to hide the sun
and the moon shows her pallid smiley face,
and water obeys its signal to come in closer, closer yet.

"Come!” water tells the child.
 “Why? she cries, holding on to hope and fragile twigs.
“Come!” water whispers in reply.

The liquid voice seems soothing, somehow
and much to her surprise, the child surrenders without a fight.

The water is satisfied; carries her flaccid body away from shore,
deep into the undercurrent and the child struggles no more.

Her eyes are open. Perhaps death is like that, she thinks;
“Maybe it’s another way of living without a Mom, or a Dad”
She sees little whirlpools of mud lifting from the riverbed;
it all feels to her like a dream and she’s no longer afraid.

Suddenly, the water turns colder and changes hues
from earthy-red, to translucent shades of green  
and then she notices things she’s never seen before.
“Is this the ocean? How do those flowers grow?”
“Those are not flowers, they are coral.
There are mountains here and valleys, as well,
just as you have seen them on land.”
Then the child remembers wondering...
“Is this where the tide comes from?”
“No. For that, I’ll have to take you to the end of time.”

Soon after having said that, water lifts itself
from the ocean bed in violent, and vociferous roar.
Water turns to fire, and fire into air, and light
becomes darkness, and sound stops.

She’s adrift and can no longer hear the water’s voice;
she hears nothing… nothing but the breath of silence
then way, far away, there’s a tiny twinkling light.
She is drawn to it and slowly drifts through space
twirling and tumbling till she’s very, very close
and she’s there – can almost touch it.
Then, the light begins to spread itself throughout;
wider and wider till there’s no more night.
The young child moves into its warmth
The light rocks her in its gentle arms and whispers:

“This is where the tide comes from.”

Carmen Ruggero .2005