You start out gliding through glass.
Quiet, just you, under a wide, full moon, rising over the dark waters. Dimly lighting the way.
There are lights, others, like you, drifting with some purpose in mind.
Sometimes you can't tell how far or close they really are.
The trick is to not try to see too far ahead. To see what's right there.
Stay centered, and bring her safely in.
It takes a special kind of vigilance,
keeping your eye on the shore lights but still right on ahead,
watching for stray buoys, or logs, settled in the silent night waters.
Then the shore lights near a little,
Specks on the horizon, growing bolder, hailing you to a safe place.
But it will still take longer than you thought.
You'll start to wonder in the black if you really saw what you thought. If that is the shore you wanted?
Or was it a ways back? If you are really moving towards dry ground.
Stable and solid.
But you must see it through. You must trust what you knew of this place in the brilliant light of day.
When sky and shore and water were all so distinct.
You must move inch by inch through the depths. For eventually the shore will near and you will find yourself tied sturdily off on a dock.
You're feet firmly on the ground.
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