The surface of things is a deep mystery

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Last night fear was near the surface

I feel like I write my life upon water.  My words snake into the air and as I quietly voice or sing my thoughts to the night air my eyes fill with moisture.  

I am alone looking at the reflection of Venus in the slopping waters of a small bay.  I realise that when I’m alone I see myself in a very clear mirror and in relationships I somehow see my face as I am.  I spot the planet Venus nestled against the moon. I can see Venus in all her created glory.

As I walk home along the night street a young man with dark hair and dark pants sat pensively on some steps, his sunglasses at odds with the moon. I wanted to stop and ask, “ Are you all right?” and solve the mystery of why he sat where he was looking at nothing. My training was too entrenched, the imagined possibility of him being an drug addled axe murderer was too likely.  Fear is so near the surface.

A dog darted ahead of me out of a side street and a man quickly picked up his child to plunge her into the safely of an open car.  All the while reassuring her that the doggy was just wanting to have a look. Fear is so near the surface.
The surface of  things is a deep mystery.

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