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too darn hot
but who am i kidding, i love it
it is sad to be in a stuffy office and not dangling tired dusty toes in a cool calm lake (yes it's true, i love the creepy cool of lakes) that just begs you to walk - slowly into the water, which starts off bathtub warm, and gets cooler the deeper you go - and the way that gentle sand turns into deliciousmucky slime that sucks a foot in - first up to ankle, and then it's like walking in snow - the lake is trying to take you in as it's own - until the water hits that 4 ft deep - maybe a little deeper mark and suddenly you can pull your feet out of the ooze and swim, swim deeper and deeper so the itchy strands of seaweed that want to pull you under are far below - swim until the shore feels far away, and just before the worry or tired kicks in - you make it to the floating raft - the anchored island, where you can climb up onto old flats of wood and lie on the hot boards until you are dry and hot and the only relief is the icy cool of the water as you dive back in - trying to go deep enough - to feel the primordial chill of water that the sun hasn't reached - water that remembers the ice of February - and as the air in your lungs pulls you back to the surface in a volcano of bubbles - you get to start the process all over again - swimming back to shore for a cold pop - and then out to the anchor again
a never ending circle - until the sky darkens enough to welcome the mosquitos and the people run to their homes with screened in porches - and i sat with you in front of the court house - safe from tiny bites - protected by our cigarette smoke - and planning debauchery in detroit - for two twentysomethings from a farm town
it is sad to be in a stuffy office and not dangling tired dusty toes in a cool calm lake (yes it's true, i love the creepy cool of lakes) that just begs you to walk - slowly into the water, which starts off bathtub warm, and gets cooler the deeper you go - and the way that gentle sand turns into deliciousmucky slime that sucks a foot in - first up to ankle, and then it's like walking in snow - the lake is trying to take you in as it's own - until the water hits that 4 ft deep - maybe a little deeper mark and suddenly you can pull your feet out of the ooze and swim, swim deeper and deeper so the itchy strands of seaweed that want to pull you under are far below - swim until the shore feels far away, and just before the worry or tired kicks in - you make it to the floating raft - the anchored island, where you can climb up onto old flats of wood and lie on the hot boards until you are dry and hot and the only relief is the icy cool of the water as you dive back in - trying to go deep enough - to feel the primordial chill of water that the sun hasn't reached - water that remembers the ice of February - and as the air in your lungs pulls you back to the surface in a volcano of bubbles - you get to start the process all over again - swimming back to shore for a cold pop - and then out to the anchor again
a never ending circle - until the sky darkens enough to welcome the mosquitos and the people run to their homes with screened in porches - and i sat with you in front of the court house - safe from tiny bites - protected by our cigarette smoke - and planning debauchery in detroit - for two twentysomethings from a farm town