Running on Stars, Breathing in Water

This morning, like the last two, I ran across stars, not even certain that my feet touched the ground. Along the grey, still water that reflected the far-off white-capped Olympics that mirrored their craggy edges, I ran.
The water was still, save the occasional soft rain that also entered my sleep. My dreams, as dreams tend to do, have a mist about the edges. The flickering images in my mind’s eye reminded me of home movie nights; my dad’s bright-lighted 8mm camera capturing two boys and a puppy playing in the grass and mud in the backyard of the Elsmere house that overlooked the wandering Delaware River.
Huge ships with foreign markings from far off distances arrived at port carrying unseeing cargo—treasures I imagined, from exotic lands. The color of the Delaware is the same as the Sound, and always the grey-blue water brings me peace and calls me to adventure.
Traveling across water, either by air or sail or surfboard or swimming is a womb-like tunnel of my own repeating birth and rebirth. For it always transports and renews me, even if by breathing the watery air.
I know that below the surface is a whole other world, waiting to be explored or just left to the imagination. It matters not which path you take as one is as real as the other. I sleep in water; I dream in water; I breathe in water. And, from time to time I run on stars.

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