Day 621: Blessed

How many times can I say that I am on-my-knees humbled by the beauty and peace of the pond? And how many times does it feel truer than ever before? Today - oh god - such a blessing. 

The phone rang just before I left the house and it was a little Lilleygift, a sweet snip with that girl who brings me so much richness. I loved talking to her. It wasn't as snip-snappy as planned, and all the better for it. As we talked, from my window I watched the sun make light of Alexandra Palace, picking it out and spotlighting it against a solid blue-grey sky. I watched clouds materialise, rain sheet itself over the building and the valley between here and there. I witnessed a double rainbow (DOUBLE!) and followed the shelf of falling rain until I was deep within it, from the windows being tainted with spits of rain to pummelled with torrents of it. 

And then it passed. The sun broke through (over the Palace first, of course). The wind kept ripping leaves off trees and making them dance, but the rain was nothing but a memory soaked into the asphalt. It couldn't get more autumn if it tried. And so to the pond.

We're tickling the back of October now. It should be cold. And yet, the sun was already warming the bench, still wet from the downpour, so I changed outside, naked in the sun and leaves, bare toes in the mud and on the grass. Standing on the steps, I watched a languorous back crawler make her way across the water, each lazy arm falling upwards and back down, luxuriating. Beautiful.

The water was very present. Not VERY cold, but cold enough to start to pinch the fingertips and toes, to palm the pads of my feet with the knowledge that too long in is not just silly, but dangerous. I love that this water can calm you and kill you. One of the first signs of hypothermia is a sense of euphoria - we know it well, us swimmers, but to taste it for too long is just not wise. 

A bit like this, only watchier and more indignant.

I would say smooth. The water itself was smooth and made of silk, but full of leaves, all gathered round the steps. Touched and scratched with crisped-up oak leaves, beech leaves, twigs, not just on the surface but through the water's depth. Despite the wind, there was a calm on the water's surface - undulating movement, not little frantic peaks, like some wind makes.

A single seagull on the ring, standing guard. More delicate than a seagull. Perhaps a tern? He/she watched us as we passed. I'd say indignation, if I had to personify the stance of this bird. Could have been its face, though... outraged bird. Incredulous winged creature.


As Jane the artist-lifeguard said, there just aren't words to sum up certain things, and the sense of privilege and bliss, of being ALLOWED to be part of this picture, body cold, heart joined with water, nature, light and (hippy warning) love. How is it that I get to do this? How is it that these simple, powerful pleasures are permitted to me?

There are, though. Look.

And if the water and the dive (deep, dark, leafy, cold) were not enough, the shower was so pleasing I failed to stop a little moan from coming out. So hot and determined, washing off the leaves, but not the pleasure of the pond. We marvelled, those of us there, at all of this, and wished each other well and then got dressed. 

This is just the start of my day. Truly, truly, I am blessed.