September 27th: it’s hot outside. All summer we had cool weather. Rain. And now, the crowd has gone. The lake is a mirror of calm. And it’s just me, swimming. I feel like I’m in heaven.
My sister, Julie, who lives in Virginia, once said: “It’s not summer til you can’t move.” It’s not summer now, but it feels like that. And, thanks to the water, I can move.
I go into the water anticipating an opening, freedom. I have a sense that, even as I’m moving, everything else, even in its stillness, is moving. I feel that wherever I was when I left land will not be the same when I return. Not the same in my perception. Not the same in my expectations. Not the same in my journey going forward.
Lifted. Lighter. Easier.
And it is.
As William Stafford wrote (in “Crossing Unmarked Snow”):
The things you know before you hear them – those are you, Those are why you are in the world.
To go for a swim?
And perhaps see my perceptions move and shift?
That’s water. That’s art. That’s why.