the water was always freezing.
those early mornings, summers 7, 8, 9 . . .
the first jump in was like drowning. the warm up laps literal and necessary. and just when i thought i couldn’t take the tingling, that my lungs would turn to ice and sink,
i’d flip over to my back, crank my arms as fast as i could, and zip through the cold until it wasn’t cold any longer.
the water was rougher than it let on.
just last month, summer 23 . . .
when i sought such adventure, and set out to swim the lake. one side to the other, half of half of a mile, not too far, farther than it looked. the ripples smashed my attempts to breathe easily, side to side, they knew my pattern. and just when i though i couldn’t take the abuse, that my lungs would turn down the chance for adventure,
i turned to my back, and cranked my arms as hard as i could. all sounds silenced by the waves on my ears, peacefully gliding alongside the canoe, spotting me to safety all the way home.
this water is trickier than it looks.
this week, this month, today.
i dive in with hope and heart and vigor, but its deep and i’m not sure how far i can go, before i turn, face to sky, and take a breath . . .