Ambience Lost

Sheared from the sky by the towering cliffs, it raced through the gorge and obediently followed the path carved by the river. Funneled ever downward and cast like a newly thrown top upon the river, it etched ephemeral lines across the face of a tall wave before winnowing a white plume from the crest and whirling on. Its serpentine trace was briefly furrowed in the river’s surface as it continued downstream where the coils of its energy began to unravel and it soon disappeared. So vibrant was its beginning . . . so jubilant was its dance . . . and so brief was its life . . . .

He appeared like a shadow puppet against the shimmering brightness of sunlight and dancing water. He hand-paddled his way downriver, exploring seams of current and catching each eddy as if he were stopping to pay some desirable toll. Gazing at the soft mosaic of twisted swirls in his path, he worked his way up the well-defined eddy above the tall wave. As he peeled away into the powerful current that streamed around the rock, he feathered a single hand in the water until he joined the river’s main course where he moved both hands in harmony as he bounced through the chop. Sweeping back with one hand and forward with the other, he spun his boat then picked up the pace of his forward strokes as he neared the shining wave. Slowly dropping into the trough, he intuitively leaned forward and increased his effort as he felt the sensation of lift on his stern. He rode up the wave and momentarily hovered near the crest before sliding down its smooth face and slightly up the green ramp that rose in front of him. His bow rode high on the ramp for a few seconds before slipping back to where he settled, suspended in the palm of the river. He dragged his opened hands in the fast-flowing water, smiling as he felt the very essence of this protean creature slip through his parted fingers. Mesmerized, he watched as the jade-colored folds of current feeding the wave surged and ebbed, interpreting the ancient face of the bedrock below. A fresh breeze brushed his face as the water raced past and he was filled with the pleasing sensation of speed. He cupped both hands and pitted his body against the force of the river. Again he felt himself being lifted up the face of the wave and toward its peak. Like small starbursts he thrust open his hands and slid back down into the cradle of equilibrium, delightfully skimming in the small ambience between future and past.

He lifted one hand free and cupped the other deeply within the wave where he felt the very life-force of the river pulse up his arm and through his body. As he pulled with his knees and abdominal muscles, the boat zipped away at an angle that defined this interface of body and water. An instant before his course took him off the end of the wave, he thrust his opposite hand below the surface and brought the boat around. He added still more pressure to this hand as he lifted the other free of the water and pulled with his lower body. The boat sliced sharply back on an opposite tack. He repeated the maneuver on the other end of the wave then worked his way back to the middle where he again climbed the wave before dropping back into its trough. Glistening pearls of water leapt from the hull of his boat as it skittered on the wave.

He noticed how the wave would build, then fall upon itself, creating a frothy mane that periodically ran along its crest. It was a temporal phenomenon--a triad of water, air and gravity--but it begged to be explored. He contemplated the move; it would be simple enough, but no room for error. He stalled his boat and rode high on the wave. He shot down its face, arcing to one side. He slowed the boat and as the bow came around to meet the breaking top of the wave, he snap-lifted the stern and sharply spun ninety degrees.

Perhaps he mistimed the strongest point of the break or made a slight miscalculation and dipped too much of an edge, but for whatever reason he broke through just as he topped the wave. As his momentum carried him over the top, he flailed backstrokes in a valiant attempt to regain the wave. But the river had spoken; it was a medium that required exactness and almost was not a part of its language. A fleeting glance told him that the gorge narrowed into vertical walls just beyond the wave, their height ceasing only after touching the very sky. He spilled over into the shadows and merged with the river where its powerful reflex waves converged. As he was pulled ever deeper into the heart of the river, he realized there would be no attainment to the shimmering wave; it was a one-time, catch-on-the-fly event. He would not--could not--return.

He vanished into the dark chasm and would be taken on an inexorable voyage that would one day reach the sea. The silent rock walls would bear witness to his parting and the majestic river would be his abiding . . . and fitting . . . shrine.