Autumn Lake

 

Swimming at the lake this time of year is precious.  The water is cold and bright and the forest is filled with the golden light of fall. I am chilled after swimming as twilight descends earlier and earlier. I sleep deep and long after.  Today, I swam in the lake where our family used to have a cabin.  A strong wind blowing in the new season whipped up waves onto the shoreline that was empty of summer visitors.  The water dark blue and cold was still inviting because the sun was still strong in the sky and I wanted to feel that soothing ease that a cold swim brings into my body. 

Red, orange, and golden leaves made their swirling descent into the black waters.  I wanted to hoard this experience, my last swim of the season, not sure how I was going to bear its ending.  But as the waves lapped onto the shore, and the trees let loose their golden leaves into the black waters, I realized how the preciousness of this moment was made so by its very passing.  In this season of profound letting go, the earth's season and also the season of my life, I am learning (again) what it means to live with openness. The taking in of beauty with the grief of its passing.The water thicker with the cold waves gliding over my skin, my longing to be held like this unceasingly, the ache to walk with my father once again by this lake.  

I imagine him young again with his thick dark brown hair happy in this place that held him in peace and inspiration.  He wears the heavy faux suede jacket he wore when he stacked wood and raked leaves that he gave to me when I left for college because I loved how big it was and how warm it kept me.  I wish I had it still to hold me as he would before he let me go off into the world.

 "I am still beside you," he said on our walks together today. The wind chilled our faces red as we watched the leaves scattered on the shore, knowing we will stack enough wood to keep us warm come winter.