Deeper than Wastwater
On the surface, a flock of greylags honk noisily while a rude wind from the north whips the pewter into frothy white.
Children play skimmers on the western shore as engineer parents gaze at the sheer slope across the lake and try to calculate just how deep it goes.
In the stillness at the bottom, nothing stirs and as for inky blackness – don’t even go there.
Though the June heavens present their brightest day there is no impression here.
And it is quiet. Were a tempest raging overhead with thunderclaps and lightning cracks in the deep, deep darkness it would not be known.
The heart of man has such depths, unfathomable.
Even in the glorious dawn of love, when two souls unite, reaching the heights of intimacy there are still deeper waters, uncharted territory.
And when under the surgeon’s knife, all is laid bare think not that he sees into the human soul.