A wingtip kisses the surface

Sending ripples outward to

Jar a drifting leaf.

Upward he glides

Only to turn and swoop pondward again.

 

I am as changeable as he–

With less grace–

Plunging below, losing hope of resurfacing

Only to bob up thrashing,

Sending out waves of fear and confusion

That abruptly disappear with the dissipating rings

When I am suddenly washed over with calm.

My spirits rise and I soar with elation…

Although I shall play Icarus in the end.