A Relatively Quiet Night Before You Arrived

I don’t know why it drew you in. All I know is what it allowed me to know:

You were alone, in the woods, in the middle of the night and a lone picnic table stood on the outskirts of a large puddle of water —— impossible to tell the depth of. Why did you inch closer? Why didn’t you turn back on the trail that led you here, and save your skin before the point of no return reared its inevitable head? I’ll tell ya why —— you’ve got nothin’ else goin’ for ya, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to the bottom of this equation (or at least the bottom of this puddle).

You yanked your earbuds out of your phone, wrapped them around your hand and shoved them in your sweatpants pocket. Your hands were free but they trembled —— the moon shivered above you. Each step you took sunk deeper in the ground revealing its marsh-like form. The first time the earth lifted up to your ankles you jumped back (a reasonable response to an unexpected sensation); the novelty of it quickly faded and soon enough you were treading through ankle-deep marsh.

It had been a relatively quiet night before you arrived at the curious scene; the birds had long gone to bed and only the croaking toads remained restless. I think it was their restlessness that kept your nerves in check. The shivering moon had the opposite effect —— sent its shivering self down your spine and made you question the merits of your behavior there in the marsh. The ankle-deep muddy marsh crawled up your shins—salvation for your shin splints —— and settled just above your knees. Whatever water made up the marsh was the perfect temperature; it seemed to externalize your internal homeostatic reality; it was like slogging through a marsh of your own making. Why do you think that is?

I couldn’t tell ya, but it sure seemed true when I was watchin’ ya from the treetops that starless night. You know, you were a curious soul to come across in the dead of night; I was hanging like a bat opposed to gravity when I first heard ya’ sloshing your way through the thick of it. Before I could wipe the sleep out my eyes you were waist deep in the thankless entity—nothin’ I could do but watch. So I did.

It snugged itself around your waist and your shivering stopped cold in its tracks like a raccoon buried in a dumpster—flashlight threatening to reveal it to its wielder. That’s when you stopped moving and I repositioned myself upright in my tree; when I  did so, and you turned right-side-up with the rest of the world, it became abundantly clear to me just how malignant the marsh had become. It certainly latched on to you, and there was nothin’ I could do. You stood like that for a while. I’m not sure whether you were scared or taking in the scene set before you. You didn’t seem the scared type so I thought you must’ve just been soaking in the moment (I guess literally and figuratively). You must’ve stood like that for an hour—the moon certainly suggested so. The marsh didn’t like that —— didn’t like your bottomless patience. I grew restless watchin’ ya stand there like that; I was almost glad when the marsh maneuvered you toward its center—almost. To this day I don’t understand why you did that. Why’d you take your perfectly good life and sink it in that unforgiving selfish marsh? You seemed like a person who deserved more from the world than what the marsh could ever give ya; yet you sunk your spirit into its depths —— why?