The memory plays in my head like an endlessly looping piece of film. It is short and fast. There is no fading in between. It just begins over and over again. Ending as abruptly as it begins.

I saw my Great-grandfather walk on water.

It is an unbelievable memory that is etched in my mind, the kind originating in dreams rather than reality. The kind that is dismissed, buried under the tumbling of everyday life. But the kind that sticks and makes an appearance when you least expect. It played in my head once in a while until recently it became a constant undertone in my mind. Suddenly my dreams were filled with strange images and glimpses from the river; fast, short, fleeting. And they were all beautiful.

I found the clip after going through many hours of home videos. It is short, about ten seconds. Short like my memory of it.

I remember the smell in the air, the sounds from the whimbrel, the sun. Soft breeze; I hear the whimbrel, squint my eyes towards the sun and then towards the river. For a while I only see red, orange and yellowish spots from looking into the sun. Then I see him emerge from the yellow. He walks slowly, hands behind his back. Then everything fades into yellow again. For a brief moment he walked on the water.

There is a dark blue hue over the landscape, a cold day most likely. Or it could just be the bad quality of the video. The water flows slowly, sparkling in the sun. The camera is unsteady, shaking up and down while zooming onto him. First slowly, then too fast. Everything is so silent, almost holy.

Then I realize the volume in the computer is turned down, so I turn it up and hear my grandmother laughing loudly behind the camera.

That explains the shaking.