Water Lily

There’s a memory I am fond of, that runs through my veins and is as much myself as is my blood. It was when I was twelve and frequently canoeing with my family through Florida waters. Deep green and teeming with life, it was a common occurrence for me to dip my fingertips in the water. As the canoe would continue on I would watch, mesmerized as the surface of the water would ripple and meld to my fingers.  Every once in a while, there would be an obstacle that would cause me to lift my hand from the waters. My favorite obstacle would be the water lily. It was beautiful, and I longed to reach and grab the flower that seemed to float, disconnected, upon the glassy river. More often than not, I would lean over in an attempt to catch the plant, only to end up submerged. But as I grew, I longed for the flower to be everywhere. For the world to appreciate its purity, innocence, and life. To me, the lily exuberated what I did not, a certain grace, a symbol of the swamp’s beauty. A mark that the fish, frogs, and even the gators were an integral part of the swamp’s ecosystem. That I made no difference, life would still go on. That even if I kept my fingers in the water, the flower would hold strong, as strong as the life God has given this planet.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

I love the serene image this conjures of the little girl (the young you) dragging her fingers in the water and touching the water Lilies. Nicely written.