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Call of the Water


I am drawn to the water. It calls me, though staring and standing at the edge resonate more than venturing to or beyond the horizon. I find solace in the shore – whether seated and gazing out, toes in the sand or swimming and gazing back, beyond where feet can touch. The reference point of land grounds me.

In recent years, the shore has diminished along the lake that has been my anchor, falling away into rising waters, claiming play spaces, yards, landmarks and even houses. The places to sit are fewer but the line remains and the point of reference still grounds.

It is this time of year that the water becomes sustainably swimmable. Though I tolerate icy temperatures, the discomfort and dizziness that come with 55-degree plunges can shorten the time spent counting strokes and buoys.

These days, the laps multiply. One, two, three, breathe – alternating sides each cycle, keeping even on the odd stroke. Counting the multiples of three until the digits triple and then starting again. Observing the sticks at the bottom and the occasional fish between.

Marveling at the clarity of the water. Wondering at the ability to be in, on, within, above and through all at once. Feeling the ease that comes with surrender to the waves and learning to work within the undulations to find fuel through breath.