lake-cold is its own moment,
a sleeping aquifer yawning underfoot
invisible
but we can feel it;
this water
is thousands of years old
and yet we—
finite things—
swim unaware in eternity,
dragonflies dodging
in the heavy summer stillness.
the dogs shake,
glitter flies,
fish dart away from our kicking feet,
and up high,
the humming planes look down on us
swimming breast-stroke through the blue
unable to comprehend
our quiet
small
pleasure. “Let’s go swimming,” he said, the way he says it every summer, with so much hope in his voice. And this year, for some reason, I finally said yes.
That may seem like a small thing, but it isn’t.
Summer is not my favorite season. Never has been. While there are aspects of every season that I think are beautiful and valuable, I find the heat and the sunny “sameness” of summer difficult to truly enjoy. On balance, my hobbit self will always prefer to feel cozy over anything else, and it’s impossible to feel cozy in the middle of a heatwave.
But I’ve been feeling a strange shift in my heart, this year, toward a glimmer of affection for summer. I think it started in an offhanded way, when my friend and I met up for coffee a few weeks ago and I was wearing an outfit—a certain pair of shorts and a t-shirt and sneakers with my hair in braids—that made her laugh and say, “That reminds me of how we dressed at camp!” And I laughed too, because she was so right. We used to work at a local summer camp together, long dusty days and incredible responsibilities and fun and deep talks and tearful evenings around the campfire.
I think back on that girl who worked at that place and I almost don’t recognize her. I think I savored better, back then. Saw those camp days at the foot of the mountains as something to hold onto, to sip instead of swallow. I never wanted those summers to end, and it was always hard when they did.
So maybe that’s where this shift began, this desire to be present in the days I’ve been given, even if the temperature climbs and the sweat runs and the cozy things have to be put away for a little while. I remember that summer-camp-girl with her ukulele and her Chaco sandals and I try to recall how she held tightly to time. How her skin bronzed and her hair lightened. How an unstructured afternoon felt like a decade.
So it starts with swimming. Every summer, my husband tries to get me to go swimming with him at the lake walking-distance from our house. And every year, I maybe consent once or twice, but mostly just to do something that I know he enjoys. It’s not that I don’t like swimming. It’s just that I get caught up with the other things I could be doing, instead. Or I get hung up on how I feel in a swimsuit on any given day. Or I worry too much about getting the dog(s) cleaned up and dried off after. Or any one of a number of silly excuses.
But this year, when he asked, I said yes. Without question. Not just because I know he wants to go, but because I finally do, too. Chores and tasks and daily nitpicks of life aside, I want to savor. I want to swim and soak up the sunshine and feel the heat on my skin and find the season’s wealth in ways I usually overlook. There are berries ripening on the bushes and apples swelling in the tree. There are baby hummingbirds kiss-calling to their mother from a tiny nest in the branches overhead. There are dragonflies and bullfrogs and sunning snakes and Swainson’s thrushes psalming gently into the evenings. There is life.
To all of these things, to every season, I am invited. All that I must do—all that any of us must do—is say yes.
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Opening with a poem followed by prose makes a kind of reverse haibun. I like it.
I can relate to your feelings about summer for sure! When I moved to Hawaii a little over a year ago, I struggled with it being consistently summer and not feeling “cozy”. Last year, I compensated by making the inside of my house feel as fall-like as possible despite the heat…but this year I have found more joy in appreciating the unique things about Hawaii, like the ability to go for a cool walk every since morning before the sun comes up or being able to read by the beach during my lunch break. It’s interesting how our perspective on things like weather and location can slowly change over time.