Pink Lake

November 11, 2015

The crackling crunch underfoot, my labored breathing and the pinkish patterns of salt (that I kept thinking of as ice) hypnotized me and I found myself trudging great distances tapping out a haphazard rhythm on a little drum to accompany me. The lack of obstruction meant I could keep in visual contact with the others and our sounding began to feel as if we were helping the lake to generate its own sound with us.

Our movements in relation to each other were somehow informing our sounding, and our soundings were somehow informing our movements, which although detailed seemed vast and slow. Something was being brewed up that was more than just random movement and sounding but I am unable to articulate what that was. 

 

 

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