by Peter Roberts

The initial shock is palpable –
my feet like cowards wanting to
run, yet in a minute, maybe two,
they seem to meld with it and
wake fully for the first time in a
very long time. I feel no squelch
of little fish nor the burn of acids
released by an estuarine factory
upstream. I go deeper, deeper;
become surrounded. There is a
pleasant tingling like I have broken
the ice, chosen life, splashed and
yelled I will not resist. Though naked,
exposed, older, I am still feeling wet
behind the ears.