Reverie Pool

For a while I believed it was a memory. Now I am not exactly sure if it was even a dream. Perhaps a daydream? Or a secret, whispering of things to come? Whatever it was, the details are still engraved in my senses, both faint and distinct. I remember the stone pavilion I stood beneath, the copper-colored rock tile stretching beneath my feet and surrounding the pool that lounged before me.  The water was lazy, but waiting, still and patient. There was a calm in the air, a heavy and unfamiliar embrace, thick with a subtle, but apparent moisture. I can picture the muffled echoes of droplets, of footsteps, of whatever it was making the calm clatter around me. I was young—I am young when I picture myself swallowing the scene, peering across the still water. Where I was didn’t matter, only the fact that I was there. Was I with an adult? I can’t remember. But the child, only a silhouette on the other side of the long, almost eternal pool waved enthusiastically to me. I didn’t know who he was, or how he knew who I was. But I didn’t mind. I just peered across the water at him, his face unrecognizable. His waving arm was the only movement that disturbed the calm stillness of the image. I wanted to return the gesture, but I remained still.

The image lingers in the calm corners of my mind, beckoning me to find the reality beneath it. Does the place exist? Who was the child waving to me? I have always known I would travel; the knowledge is innate. But this image reveals a greater curiosity of the world that lies before me, exaggerating my longing  for adventure . It is mystical, fantasy-like. But the image is real and tangeable, similar to my dream of exploring the deepest, darkest corners of the earth—even the calm corners holding lazily tense pools of still water.