The Contemplation of Light

When does a stone well seem like the turrent of a castle? The only difference is one goes up, the other goes down. But for the one that goes down it goes a long, long way. And then there's water, if it's not a dry well. The water tends to stay pretty much the same temperature; cold, because it sits at a certain line below the freeze line. At least that's my own rationalization I've come to dig up from a very dusty old memory that managed to brush itself off in my mind. AKA the library of confusion.

So now comes a light, small but strong, following it's path of least resistance via gravity to plop within the water. It doesn't fizzle out like that of a flame touching water, oh no, this one has to go under still glowing and bounce it's way back to the surface via the bouyancy of the water and the vaguely remembered scientific explantion of "magic". still glowing. Fighting the erosion of the water within the tiny cracks leading to a small battery funding it's fuel to stay lit.

I stare. Waiting. Knowing that eventually it too dies. Without cause or reason it started it's death with its first flicker on it's journey down.

"Nan" a voice called from above, and no she was defiantly not 'God'. That voice is everywhere and no where and sometimes comes from within. But this was a human voice. One I know well. It usually came with skittering sounds that floated away leaving behind stripes on the wall that resembled vines.

But now I could see. All around

"Plop" something else fell in. Looking for another light I noticed the reflection. "Ziploc". Hmmm, maybe that was a sacrifice for the dying ember slowing being tortured by moisture.

In the sacrificial gift I noticed more fuel for the fire to keep going.

I looked up and saw what looked like a little blonde girl by the well.

"Stay away from the light Carolanne!" I yelled with a grin.

"Come into the light Nan!" it yelled back with a chuckle.

Slowly my gaze caught the wall as the light filled the room. I saw rungs! As I put my hand up to the first rung my hand held tight. And instead of droplets of water, a book fell away to the pile that was being left behind.

Thank you G