There is so much to see between a single breath between the waves, and only one breath before the entire view changes. That is life in the sea. That is life. Period.
Today I swam south with the tide, pushed by the wind, carried away in a salty seaweed soup.
Bright seaweed in shades of green and red, white and brown grazed my fingers, caught on my goggles, swirled through my legs, pulling my attention back into now. This watery journey, this sacred space I love to visit, usually alone, where my singular job is to stay afloat and see all that I can see above and beneath the endless waves.
Large maple leaves appeared every so often as I worked my way south through the fuzzy, warm water, hinting at autumn’s arrival, and winter’s distant, dark approach.
The high tide submerged the beach entirely, where trees still laden with leaves—some scorched from the intense heat wave—sat still in brilliant green, or edged in burnt brown.
Unsure how far I would go, I pulled myself along, my legs beating a steady rhythm behind me as gusts of wind blew my orange float against my back, tapping on my shoulders like an anxious child vying for attention.
As I left the last houses behind me, the wind died down and the seaweed soup dissipated, leaving me in a quiet sea of green water. A few seagulls soared overhead, and I imagined my body a boat far out at sea. The gulls would lead me back to safety—my beady-eyed guardians. In the distance I spotted the bright white triangle of a sailboat, and smelled the salt. The smell reminded me that I was already home.
A few days ago I met up with a stranger to swim in the sea with her. Like me, she grew up here. Like me, she loves the open water and also has many childhood memories of splashing in these rich waters. She had found my blog and wished to swim in the sea with me, as her swims as an adult have been mostly in a lake near her home. She was tentative to swim in the salty brine alone, and had asked me to “show a newbie” how to get started. I was happy to pay it forward, sharing what I’ve learned, just as my neighbor Dave did for me last year.
Love of water brought us together. Her quiet, gentle demeanor calmed me and I sensed a grace within her that I often long to nurture within myself.
In the water is where I feel the most graceful, the place I know will nurture me and support me without a word. Submerged in liquid I find my edges, feel the power within my body, know that I too have an inner strength and that I can make it alone.
As we shared a swim together we talked of life, of motherhood, of swimming’s magic qualities that keep us coming back.
She followed my lead and donned a cap and goggles, to swim freestyle with me and practice dual side breathing. Like today, the water was soft and free of jellyfish.
I was grateful for the chance to meet another swimmer, share some stories, get wet.
And today, I was equally happy to have a date with myself. I had no one to talk to, no one to wait for and keep pace with, no one to influence where I might end up.
The incoming tide, wind and warm water egged me on and in time I found myself several hundred yards away from one of my father’s oldest friend’s houses.
I beached myself, plopped upon the warm sand and lay my feet into a thick blanket of fresh seaweed hugging the shore. As I sat staring out across the serene expanse of water, the surface a quilt of folded glass reflecting the clear sky above, I felt full.
I remembered this beach, remembered arriving here by boat as a child, my dad’s hair blown back by the bouncing boat ride, the brown of his cheeks. Both of us smiling, so happy upon the water. As I reached back into old memories I watched them pass in and out of view, shining and sparkling like sunlight on the waves.
My swim was over for the day. As I mounted the stairs and arrived breathless at the house, I was that little girl again. I stood still, water collecting in a small puddle at my feet, waiting for the door to open.
Through the glass, Carol approached, opened the door and welcomed me in for a cookie, a drink of water and some fresh figs topped with goat cheese. She dashed about ready to prop my wet self up with sustenance. It was as if they had been expecting me.
Sandy brought out a towel, and we stood us three upon their deck to gaze out at the brilliant waves of blue. We reminisced about those endless summer days of long ago.
Sandy drive me back to my car, and we talked of the things we care about the most—the people we love. Our children growing older, his grandchildren and my parents, my beautiful sister.
It was a good swim. And in half a blink it was over and done, drifting back into the recesses of my mind to hover like seaweed with a thousand million sweet memories. Like the sea, too vast to contain, too swift to count, too raw to ever fully understand.
Mary Swims 