The path to the lake wound gently past the edge of town,
Where the houses ended and the air changed.
Quieter,
Slower,
And heavy with the scent of earth and pine.
Theo walked alone.
He carried no bag,
No phone,
No plans.
Only himself and the desire to reach the lake before nightfall.
When he arrived,
The sky was turning indigo.
The trees were casting long shadows across the water.
There,
At the edge of the reeds,
Bobbing slightly with the rhythm of the water,
Was a wooden rowboat.
No oars,
Just a soft rope tied to an old wooden post.
He stepped into it without thinking.
It rocked gently beneath him.
He lay back,
Arms folded behind his head,
And let the boat drift.
No destination.
No direction.
Just water and sky.
The further he floated,
The quieter the world became.
He could no longer hear the town behind him.
Only the soft sound of water lapping gently against the wood.
Stars began to appear slowly above him.
The boat drifted without effort.
The stillness wrapped around him,
Layer by layer.
He took a breath,
In through his nose,
And out through his mouth,
Slowly,
Deeply.
The water didn't resist him.
It carried him.
Cradled him.
Thoughts softened.
Questions loosened.
The noise inside him grew fainter,
Like distant birdsong drifting by on a soft breeze.
He felt no need to do anything.
Just breathe.
Just float.
The boat turned slowly,
Moving toward the center of the lake,
Where the sky above reflected perfectly in the water below.
There was no line between them now.
Just endless,
Shimmering darkness.
Above him,
The clouds began to part like silk,
And in their place rose the full moon.
Its silver light fell gently on the boat,
On the water,
On his skin.
It fell on everything,
Accenting the stillness around him.
It asked nothing of him.
It offered only presence and peace.
He closed his eyes,
And when he opened them again,
He was no longer in the boat.
He was lying on a smooth,
Delicate cloud,
Drifting through the sky.
The lake below had vanished.
The stars above grew brighter.
He wasn't dreaming.
He wasn't awake.
It was something else,
Softer than both.
The moonlight touched his heart like a calm,
Steady hand.
And then he heard it.
Not a voice exactly,
But a knowing.
You can let go now.
You can simply rest.
He didn't reply.
He didn't need to.
His next breath was the answer,
Slow and complete.
Any remaining tension from the day ebbed away into the night.
As he sank deeper into the cloud's comfort.
His body was heavy and at ease.
His thoughts scattered into starlight.
Sleep rose up like a tide,
Flowing gently through his mind and body.
Soft and settling.
The cloud disappeared.
The lake vanished.
Even the stars faded into the darkness.
Only the drifting remained.
And Theo,
He rested.
Deeper than thought.
Lighter than dream.
Held by stillness itself.
