I love to get to the Natatorium early
to watch the swimmers.
Very often there are large groups
either practicing or warming up for competition.
The sounds of the water and the rhythm of
people moving up and down the lanes
is both mesmerizing and comforting.
None of the pictures I've taken so far of
the swimmers has captured the fascination
I feel by the almost balletic routine
of their movements.
While swimming myself, I sometimes
think of the swimmers and try to emulate
their long line, keeping my body straight
and toes relaxed yet pointed.
"Relaxed." Yeh, that's the big thing for me;
I don't think about going fast, I think
"Technique, technique, technique.
Technique fast, technique fast, technique fast."
My body comes up "on plane" and I feel
as though the water is zooming by me.
It makes a difference.
I count my laps. I count my strokes.
I cast a glance at the clock
and then turn my eyes toward the bottom
of the pool to begin again,
another step in my odyssey to achieve a dream.
My love for you is like water.
Clear as crystal, its currents weave through,
creating inclusions, weaving, changing
yet always there, adding depth
and bands of color, rainbows of feeling
from the darkest indigo
to the happiest of yellows.
Fight it and you flounder.
Rest quietly and it will support you,
carrying you to the other side
as quickly or as slowly as you may care
to go, but always there.