September Swim

 

 

 

September swimming so precious.  Only for the hardy.  The water is cold and thicker, all the summer heat pulled out of it. It is like swimming through molasses but softer.  I am often the only one there when I go in the evening the sun setting earlier and earlier the sky a wash of grey and purple.  There may be a lone kayaker or another like me who comes for ablutions.  Why else would you swim when it is so cold?  

 

Only a few more chances before it gets too cold. These last swims stir me into awe like a visit to a European cathedral with its soaring arches, candle lite naves, marble statues of angels and Jesus.  This is the place where prayers are offered, and we are blessed by holy water.

 

The crickets are singing now and some of the oaks and maples are turning red.  There is the sweet musty fragrance of ferns, brush, and leaves softening into a damp mash. The chipmunks and squirrels are frantic to gather enough fat.  A flocks of doves flash in one undulating wave.  I gather myself up in these September swims for the pivot to Autumn which always comes too soon and as a surprise. 

 

If the lake in summer is a symphony of color, heat, and delight, the lake in September is the lone clarinet, aching for tenderness, invigorated by solitude. In summer my prayers dissolve into the water like sugar into tea.  In Fall, they gather behind me into a long robe to cover me in winter.