January 20, 2016 § Leave a comment
He is dark water – the slow dripping of mineral-rich moisture forming stalactites deep within the earth; the currents far from the ocean’s surface where light never touches; the silent pools of stillness just outside the river’s current, where fish sleep and light only just filters in, dimmed by depth and silt.
There are reflective stretches of water, glacier-blue, in the highest furthest pockets of the mountains, natural mirrors for the moon to preen in. There are hidden places in the cradle of tree-roots surrounded by rock and moss that fill with cool rainwater, places that the sun illuminates green and gold mottled with inky shadow through the canopy of forest leaves. These are the sort of waters I see in him.
He angers, but it is a cold rage, wind whipping up the lakes and oceans, a piece of a glacier falling into the sea, the glittering icy rage of fae. Mostly, he watches, and chooses to let others make of him as they will. His magnetism is that of the blackness of a forest pool that tempts you to dive, though it may have no end to its depths, and trying to reach the bottom may swallow you whole. His hunger is the gnawing mouth of a cave that stretches cold and deep and houses nothing but the dripping formation of stalactites.