Night Swim
The desert was warm at dusk when I slipped out to the pool alone. It was a still, uniform heat that held me all over. A soothing certainty to feel even the tiniest, boniest toe warm as I swiped my key card, passed through the black gate, and circled the pool. Selecting a chaise lounge, I set my towel on top of the key card and removed my sandals. Earplugs, swim cap, goggles in place on my head, I removed my pink crocheted cover-up and dropped it onto the folded towel. Just as the last guest departed through the gate with a clang, I lowered myself onto the lip of the pool at the deep end. After swishing my legs in the water for a moment, I plunged in headfirst.
That initial entry is singular, like take-off in a plane; exciting, promising, turbulent. My custom is to snake my way across the pool on that first plunge, the way a mermaid would swim through the open sea on a single breath, my body adjusting to the pool’s temperature. A plane flew very close overhead. Gusts of cooling wind began to shake the palm trees as the light drained out of the sky and darkness took reign. Under the water, the pool lights created the most marvelous caustics that I have ever seen.
My favorite part of any swim is passing through these ripples of light. I never fail to think of them as lace made of light. They were more intense with darkness surrounding the pool and the illumination beaming from within it. Alone, I swam everywhere, seeking these pockets of radiance, enjoying the patterns, relishing the feeling of my body in the water, and the quiet of my mind with my breath held. Beyond the pool, beyond the gate, there was disaster, disease, and death circling my family. Within the pool, only sacred elements and my own spirit were contained.
Please like this post, restack it so that others will see it, or subscribe to Jellied Gold. I publish three paragraphs once weekly, and reading is always free, so if you haven’t already…