|
Monday, February 20, 2006 [continued from entry of February 17] The pool had cleared out some as daylight faded, the scene growing more tranquil. I floated, propelled by a leisurely backstroke, overcome with an expanding sensation of well-being. A bit disproportionate to the situation maybe, but there it was, overriding just about everything else -- a feeling of freedom like I hadn't experienced in a while. A long while. In part, probably sparked by the sudden sensory opening out after spending the last two months out in wintertime northeast Vermont, in the middle of beautiful nowhere, feeling fairly constricted by cold, snow, lack of input. In part. It seemed to go far deeper than that, though, strangely so. Mulling it over later, this occurred to me: a substantial part of my younger years were spent on the Hudson, where my family had land. From the age of four on, the warm season was spent with the river as the passing days' backdrop, from 18 on that became the family home, the 'rents having fled downstate, building a home there in the woods, the river a major presence in day-to-day life. Huge amounts of time were spent by the water, swimming, in small boats, laying on our small dock, the slightest breeze producing a gentle, tranquilizing rocking motion (the dock's outser section a float, mounted on barrels, responding to the smallest rippling of the river's surface). The smell of water, the feel of it -- all fundamental to existence for many years. The first three summers post-high school were spent working at Jones Beach on Long Island, a whole different thing in some ways, but water once again a basic part of life. One summer after that was spent in a small town 90 miles north of N.Y.C., a pit stop between Seattle and Manhattan, my then wife and I passing big chunks of the days at the town pool. Not the same as the river or the Atlantic, but not bad. Sunlight, water. High diving boards. And the company of someone dear to me. And then: nothing. I've lived all over the map, have never again found myself close to water in the same kind of intimate, daily-basis way. I've had friends who've been into the indoor swimming pool thing, I've tried it now and then: it's never done it for me. (No sunlight, no sky, no open air.) And I've gradually forgotten about the pleasure, the fundamental rightness of being around and in water. Until Wednesday, when my body found itself waking up, overjoyed in a way it hasn't been for a long time. Don't know what I'll wind up doing with this information. It's good data to have, though -- I'll be curious to see what I do with it. [continued in entry of February 22] España, te echo de menos. rws 1:48 PM [+]
Comments:
Post a Comment
|