Swim

I swam in a pond yesterday. The weather alternated from rainy to cloudy to rainy to finally sunny. Since there was no thunder, we swam while the water droplets hit the water at pace with the water striders.

When I swim out in a lake or pond, my back to the shore, my eyes nearly level with the water's surface, floating and treading, I am cradled. It's the same type of feeling I have when I'm on a long hike. I'm immersed in the natural world, an invisible bubble protecting me from petty human worries. I am fully present, as I must be to survive. My body is strong and purposeful and graceful; there is no need to worry about appearance.

After the sun came out, blue damselflies darted over the water, chasing mates or food or places to lay eggs. I had a wonderful time playing my friend's daughter, who, though just learning to swim, was fearless: "Can you stand? Yes? Then let's go out further!" I blew water through a foam pool noodle at her. She grabbed onto my shoulders as I did the breast stroke. I dove under, gliding along the bottom like a frog. I felt like a child, free at play. I wanted to stay there forever, with the water and my friends and no responsibilities.

Out of the water, drying off, smelling something sweet and waxy. Summersweet. It smells like lilac, my friend said. Yes.

The sunrays reached down within the weeds and gently shifted patches of luminous color. This world was surely the most beautiful of all worlds.

Fish is Fish, by Leo Lionni.