The calm surface of the water reflects the sunlight, waiting. The day is warm and sunny, but not too warm, around 75 degrees. I wade slowly into the shallow end, letting my exposed limbs get used to the cold water. As it reaches breast-high, I draw a large intake of breath at the shock of the coldness that far up on my body. Finally, I dip the rest of me below the water. AHHHH..nice temperature, not bad at all.

I kick off and swim the length of the pool. My passage through the water is nearly silent as I am doing the breast stroke. I roll over onto my back, throw my arms out with my palms uplifted to the sun, and just float. Floating reminds me of my childhood when we used to vacation in Florida with my grandparents. My Grandmother loved to float on her back, and she taught me the art of floating in the salt-laden, buoyant waters of the Gulf of Mexico. The technique still works today even without the salt.  I open my eyes and stare up into the blue sky dotted with puffy clouds. The clouds are wasting no time today as there is a nice breeze blowing, and they scud quickly out of my limited line of vision. I roll back over and swim the length of the pool in the opposite direction. Esther Williams I am not, but I make decent progress.

I make several more passes of the pool, varying my stroke. Already I am less out of breath than my first session on the weekend. Satisifed and relaxed after about a half hour, I swim to the steps and make my exit. The day is warm enough that I don’t feel the need to immediately wrap myself in a towel, or in the terry robe hanging over the chair, so I dry off by simply laying on the lounge chair in the sun. Time passes. I sit up with a start and look at my watch, which brings me back to reality with a thump as my book falls off my lap. Egads, is it that late already? Time to feed the dogs [who through all this have been shut in the house—What Bliss!]. My little “mini-vacation-at-the-pool” is at an end for today. [Ed.note: The book I am reading is Hollyhocks, Lambs and other Passions: A Memoir of Thornhill Farm by Dee Hardie {a flea market find}]