dare I wade onto the stretching decline at Gyro Beach?
Polished rounds, sharp edges surround my bare feet,
grainy bits and smoothed shards nestle between my toes.
A sliding, hesitant half step into cool water rolling up
ankles, and knees,
hips and tummy.
Breath sucks in deeply against shocking cold water that
seeps through skin tight, brightly flowered lycra
wrapping wetness around my waist trickling down my lower spine.
Decision time ~ rippling memories of
deep water
colder water.
Too cold for my tender flesh.
Too deep for my abilities.
Slate blue satin, stained with
a single dark cloud shadow, spreads before and around me.
Hotting sun throws sparklers on the water
Distant puffs and streaks of clouds edge the western mountains with lace
Freshening breeze ripples fluid glassy lake around me.
I have waded out and back before.
Do I turn back to the sandy comfort of my brilliant orange beach towel,
warm ecru sand and my book spiriting me safely to another land?
Edging out just a bit farther,
waist deep water warms,
skin cools to deepening water.
Moving in slow motion against increasing water weight,
trickles of cold drip and slither between
bathing suit and skin below in the chill.
Slowly and almost painfully, the beauty of this placid lake, silently encroaching mountains and homes nestling in the trees holds me in place and I want to go no further.
Yet, taking a deep breath, palms together,
fingers gently open the water in front of me.
Arms open, stretch to their greatest length, and push against silken water to propel me gently forward.
Diving down, bubbling swoosh in my ears,
my hair drifts like sea weed,
eyes shutter tightly,
breath held against water that could drown.
Twisting and turning inside the cool silver sheath of water against my skin, I am part of another world ~ weightless and must use all muscles to survive.
Opening my eyes to murky depths, no clear shapes emerge, even
as golden sun swims with me in a wavering, watery sunbeam.
Turning over and over in bubbly somersaults,
bursting to the surface to fill empty lungs,
I push out in a long back stretch to float,
side vision parallel with the horizon,
cool, wet face warmed by a dry sunbeam.
where my tiptoes can’t feel the sandy bottom.
Bravely ~ because dipping back into deep cold water from warm sun does take a certain amount of bravery ~ I let go of sand and silt.
Curling beneath the blue glassy surface, blowing bubbles, shivering,
I am again part of the wet coolness where the sun’s warmth doesn’t reach.
From the ball I have curled up in I push out in a forward stretch.
A slow dog paddle takes me to my ever nearing red striped goal,
where I rest against it's buoyant bulk before returning to shore.
“We must dare, and dare again, and go on daring. “
~ Georges Jacques Danton
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