Even Great Goliath Grows His Giants Underground.

I am in mid-air, my legs flying high behind me, eyes closed. I am on the brink of an exploration, a sudden knowing of myself in different ways, in subtle ways. There is a newly formed, recently underappreciated dedication that I have suddenly succummed to undertaking. Fernando is more alive than ever; he breathes in slow and quiet breaths. He is walking on his own sooner than I expected; he is coming to realizations about his own interactions, his own inabilities and equally: his abilities. He has ceased to throw himself into things and has stood aside and watched, waited. He and Catherine are building something solid, something weighty, worldly. She is a young girl but she is sure of the things she knows and she will only continue to know.

I am thinking again, in words. I am speaking words which hoover at the edge of my mind and which race forth and turn to new ones. Perhaps it is the change of season, the long days of sunlit skies and the hours of laying in the grass, with words lazily lapping at the edge of my mornings. Perhaps it is a sudden knowledge of something new, the way that the words creep out of the corners of everything and find themselves again at the tip of my tongue.

I can already feel the water splashing about on the sides of me. I have descended into the depths of the deep, dark lake. I cannot see to the bottom; it gets colder as I dive down. I do not bother to open my eyes; I am in murky waters. And then, I sit beneath the sun and the crisp air sends chills down my spine. And I bask in all the days left with the sun on my head and the water all around me, those days which have barely begun and which lay out before me undiscovered and filled with possibility.