A root had somehow, found its way through the stone walls of the well. Someone had cut it off about as far down the wall as I could reach. Of course, I had to reach.
What stopped me was not the caution that may have turned a more sensible fellow. As I leaned, a drop of water fell from the tip of the root and I watched it fall the full six feet to the shining pool below. “Doik!” reverberated startlingly loudly up the walls, as my haloed silhouette darkened into a series of rings. Mesmerized by the effect, I waited silently for the next drop. My shimmering, sky-encircled reflection so far below, gradually re-emerged. I took my eyes off the drop gathering gravity on the root, distracted momentarily by my own re-forming image. “Doik!” I missed it! … Not next time! I was not going to miss the next one!
The next drop developed and fell as if in slow motion: The pregnant swell, the glistening reach for the pool, the separation, the struggle to become round, falling faster…and the exact same, sudden “Doik!” that, once again, shattered my forgotten reflection into rings.
I hesitate… as if at the threshold of a holy place, as I re-create the picture of what was about to happen; how the sacred reflection in the water of that well would disappear for that nine year old boy…
There is something so engaging in the phenomena of the world, that we are drawn to it in wonder. We have to lose that sky-filled, haloed image of ourselves and our original world, to really see what the world around us is all about. Yet, the sanctity returns, when the world, once studied, is once again… stilled.