The sky full of stars; the pool absolutely socked in with fog. A swimmer appears as I stand in the water, preparing myself, & I initiate a conversation in the pool for the first time ever: “It’s foggy!” “I’ve never seen it like this!” he answers, then, “I’ve been trying to use landmarks: the plastic ducks, etc. There’s one other guy on the far left.” “I’ll try not to run into you,” I say. He tells me he’s wearing a bright yellow cap, if that helps. It doesn’t.
If I were a plane I wouldn’t take off. I’m not a plane.
It’s a real pea souper. I can tell where I am for a while then I get a little lost. Eventually I see the glow of downtown & realize it’s been missing. I turn around at the end, make my way back. There’s a dim light overhead that I use to navigate. Then I realize it’s the moon. I think I see the outline of a plastic duck. Friend or foe? I ask it, in my head.
My smartwatch, when I swim for at least two laps, says, “You Did It!” When it deems me lazy, it says, “Finished.”
Yes, watch, I tell it after one lap. I am Finished.
I hike every morning and I love when there's fog over the swamp, because I am also not a plane.
I enjoyed this. My interest was piqued by the mention of Barton Springs. I am familiar. Your writing always interests me. It grabs me. Not too much writing, just enough to convey a place, a feeling and make me wonder, which translates into, read on.
Much as I would love to financially support your writing, it is out of reach for me. Fixed income which is not sufficient, that old story of the aging. I hope many do support you! You are deserving. BTW, follow you on Twitter and are you on POST? If so, I'm with you there, also. Thank you for this morning's read.