When I was a wee thing, my Aunt Helen taught me to swim in Kinniconick Creek near my grandparents’ home in Lewis County, Kentucky. I didn’t like the feel of the occasional fish sucking at my toes, so she let me swim in my tennis shoes. Entering the cool green shade after the long, hot walk was like crossing over into a secret world. I remember the echoing click-clack of the dry stone under my feet, the careful negotiation over the slippery wet stone, the plip-plip-plip-plip-plop of a stone, flung by an older cousin, skipping over the water’s surface. Magical.
Unfortunately, the terror of a near-drowning experience a few years later in a public swimming pool in Indianapolis, Indiana ended my swimming days. However, I still dream that I can swim.
Each dream scenario is different, but the exhilaration I feel when I realize I’m swimming is always the same. I’m surprised to discover I’m swimming, but it’s obvious I can, so I do. With less effort than the action should warrant, I glide through the cool water. I feel no sense of the panic, the breathlessness, that accompanies my being in or even near deep water in real life.
That dream sensation is the same one I feel when my writing goes well. I swim effortlessly down that river of words. I’m joyfully swept away, the sun warming my head, the water cooling my body. At times, my strokes are powerful, carrying me a long distance in no time. Sometimes I tread water, gazing around, soaking up the view, listening, thinking until I’m ready to swim some more. When tired, I float, eyes closed, waiting for renewed strength, and then I flip over and set off again.
It’s been awhile, but I think I hear the splash and babble of water again. I feel the change in the air temperature. I’m so close I can feel the stones under my feet. How long, how deep is this river? I don’t know, but it’s time to dive in. See you at The End.
I enjoyed this…..took me away too and reflected how I feel when I write…
I’m glad you enjoyed it, Kathleen.
It’s sometimes such a struggle to get into that river and stay there long enough to accomplish much.
This is good , very inspiring!
Thank you, Darlene. Actually, I meant to post it tomorrow, but I accidentally hit the Publish button while previewing it … again!
I like this post Linda. It says what I feel when the water cascades over my waterfall and finally finds a place to stop and words come to fill n the void. Thanks for sharing:)
You’re welcome, Judith.
Tonight the headphones go on, the cello music begins, and I write. Tonight. Hear that Muse?
This is quite lovely, Linda — and full of poignancy —
You know – I can’t swim. I hate that I can’t swim. I hate that I have this awful love hate Thing with the water. It’s only when I step into it that things begin to go wrong – as long as I can see what’s in the water with me, and as long as the water isn’t higher than my waist – and I KNOW there won’t be some drop off where I’ll fall into an endless water hole – then I am okay. Did I say waist-high – make that thigh-high, laugh.
But watching the water, and listening to it, is magical – wonderful – healing.
Thank you, Kat.
I’m happy to meet another adult who can’t swim. Thigh-high sounds good to me. When it reaches my waist, my ability to breath greatly diminishes. But I love being able to see and hear water, and I’m very calm around the ocean as long as I stay on the beach — and as long as I don’t think about that huge monster that just might rise up out of it at any moment. 
Reminds me of Billy Elliott’s description of how he feels when dancing: it’s like electricity flowing through me. Swimming effortlessly is good too.
Yes! What a comparison, and so true!
Linda, I too had a near drowning experience snorkling in the Red Sea when I was about 12 – my dad saved me actually. It is horrifying. I wish one day water in real life will be as peaceful to you as in your dream.
I’m so happy to hear your floating on the writing – see you at the end
Snorkling in the Red Sea? It sounds as if you’ve led an exciting life, Jennifer, though I’m sure you could have done without that particular experience. Then again, who knows what makes us who we are?
And yes, I’m still afloat.
Yes, it is good, Mary Jean.
Dive in, Linda!
I did, Victoria.
I’m glad your writing is going well – very nice imagery. But I wish you weren’t afraid of water – there’s something so glorious about floating!
Oh, but imagination let’s me float, Natasha, and run, and fly, and dance, and …
I love your post…so beautifully written. You make swimming seem so rythmic and
relaxing. I too, am a non swimmer…maybe something for my “bucket list!”
Thank you, Joanne. Bucket list? Why not?