I don’t know exactly what happened, and maybe I’m not telling the story right, but I feel like this happened.
I was walking somewhere, I don’t know why I was alone, and I found a body of water, and sat down on a rock and stared at it. I stared at it and stared at it and stared at it until darkness formed around and just swallowed it completely.
I squinted at the darkness and the darkness cleared and there were spots of light: circles upon circles between the water and when I looked up, the hills I could see. . .You know when you lay down on a hot day you can see the heat rising? It was sort of like that, but a golden glow.
I got weirded out and rubbed my eyes and it was gone. I bet if I didn’t rub my eyes I could touch the light and I would be able to describe it. If I felt it, I bet it would feel like pure light, the light and the goodness (maybe). But how can a pond have light and goodness and trees and the hills and the entire essence of the world? I don’t know. A cloud can’t do good deeds, unless it protects someone from being burnt to a crisp under the sun.
After that, I walked home because I was freaked out from what happened, and knew my parents would be worried because I was staring at the water for an hour. Maybe it wasn’t an hour. It was a few weeks ago (I think). We were gathering sticks and stones to crack the ice on the lake, and I kept looking at it and I could see the light. It wasn’t an hour, but I was looking at it so intently. What if it’s yin and yang, darkness and lightness fighting each other?
When the darkness clears I can see thousands of more stars.