I watch as he descends; a graceful act, his body language fluent in the art of tranquility.
With every fiber of my being I praise and love the perfection he carries.
His barefeet do not touch the grass beside the lake; only pure light licks the tips of the stalks.
His gaze traces the facet surface of the lake.
Whit a swing he catches himself in a white winged embrace and leaps into the water.
I question why.
But as crimson invades the clarity I know.
I cry as he walks out feeling the ground beneath.
The immortal now mortal.