Spring 1879 – The Mirror Can Find No Reflection of My Soul

The ice cracked again. I could not see where but I could feel the surface shift beneath our feet.

I said, “We cannot stay here. The thaw is coming. The lake wishes to see the sky once more.” 

The wretch looked at his feet. “Then let the lake open itself and bring me into its bosom. Let it hold me down in the cold and the wet and the mud. If no person will give me solace, at least allow the natural world to take my unnatural form into its heart.”