Swimming and Laughing

Can we go swimming? What a lovely question. I was born on the lake. Growing up was filled with watermelon and sand. Swimming in the lake was not a pastime to me, it was a spiritual experience. One shared with friends but often alone by myself. When I was younger my mom would pick me up after work and I went straight to the water. She would sit on the beach often still in her work clothes while I swam. I continue to do this. When I go to the lake it is never, rarely planned. It’s like I feel something knock between my legs and I have to go. I end up in the lake and I am free. Each year I swim less. It’s as if the adult part of myself is blocking my way. The responsibility gets bigger. Life gets tougher and swimming takes a back seat. 

So far this summer I have swam once. It’s late August now and the weather is starting to turn. I doubt I will go back. There is a longing in that doubt. Wishing the doubt could go away so I could go back. Jump in for one more time until next year. The last time I went to the lake was the perfect summer day. It was ideal because I didn’t remember anything from it. Nothing special happened. It was magical. I went with my best friend. We swam and gossiped and laughed. That’s all I remember. Summer had begun and I was home.