THE DEEP END
My morning go swimming doesn’t usually involve corpses. Whether it did, I’d quit swimming for something less demanding, like coaxing cobras from baskets or my mother up out of bed before ten.
Watching the sun’s rays rise within the seventh Eco-friendly is frequently the good thing of my day. I dive in to the pool as the water continues to be inky. Once the light has altered from greatest indigo to lavender, I break my stroke, tread water and admire heaven because it bleeds from gold to yellow to pink. It’s a ritual, a metaphorical cleansing, a minute of stolen peace.
In the end, I’ve got a teenage daughter, a mom with strong opinions, a Weimaraner named Max who plots to consider over our home on his path toward world domination, along with a husband. Almost as much ast I’d prefer to, I can’t leave him out.
I began my Dr. Scholl’s, thrown my husband’s button-lower onto decking chair, dove in to the dark water and gasped in the sudden, encompassing cold. That shock of chilly water against my skin is preferable to coffee with regards to getting out of bed. Not better. Faster.
My legs kicked, my arms sliced and that i settled in to the comforting rhythm from the Australian crawl. My fingers knifed with the water, anticipating the graceful parting of liquid. They found fabric and also the terrible touch of cold flesh.