![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Summer, at last, at long last. I am so happy.
Sitting on the porch after dark in a tank top. Welcoming a breeze instead of shivering in it. Seeing the summer birds come back, the painted bunting and the hummingbirds.
Floating around lazy curves of the creek watching huge clouds drift the other way in a sky so blue I can't believe it.
And best of all swimming in the ocean. I don't do it until the water gets to about 80F, and the air maybe a few better than that. Even so, the first few times I inch in, with a line of cold around my body where the water's hitting for the first time, but my feet and legs already happy, telling the rest of me to come on in. The little water running over my ankles, the first splashes up to my knees. A breaker foaming around my waist. And finally a big green curve over my head--no more choice, dive in or jump high, but my head goes in. And then I can't make myself come out. I'm riding the waves in, I'm diving under, I'm floating over, and in between lying on the water that holds me like a friend I'm laughing with, laughing so hard I can't stand up.
And wading back through the warm marsh, showering under the trees, drying my hair in the breeze while I rock on the porch.
It seems that all the rest of the year I'm only partly living. This is real.
Sitting on the porch after dark in a tank top. Welcoming a breeze instead of shivering in it. Seeing the summer birds come back, the painted bunting and the hummingbirds.
Floating around lazy curves of the creek watching huge clouds drift the other way in a sky so blue I can't believe it.
And best of all swimming in the ocean. I don't do it until the water gets to about 80F, and the air maybe a few better than that. Even so, the first few times I inch in, with a line of cold around my body where the water's hitting for the first time, but my feet and legs already happy, telling the rest of me to come on in. The little water running over my ankles, the first splashes up to my knees. A breaker foaming around my waist. And finally a big green curve over my head--no more choice, dive in or jump high, but my head goes in. And then I can't make myself come out. I'm riding the waves in, I'm diving under, I'm floating over, and in between lying on the water that holds me like a friend I'm laughing with, laughing so hard I can't stand up.
And wading back through the warm marsh, showering under the trees, drying my hair in the breeze while I rock on the porch.
It seems that all the rest of the year I'm only partly living. This is real.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
and a teeny bit jealous..
I have to get to the ocean this fall...
Lovely!
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I may be planning a trip to Greece in the fall--I'll be asking you for ideas, if I do. That sounds like ultimate paradise.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
tailtale unfolds...From:
no subject
Did you see Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants, for a teen-glamorized version?
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
And yet I love it, too. I come out and my core temperature has been lowered enough that I remain cool all evening and seem to sleep better.
I suppose we really are a hardy lot.
;o)
From:
no subject
But the problem is, I want it to be like this all the time! Thinking of moving to Mexico...
From:
Amen
From:
Re: Amen
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject