White on white, from the water up over the murky trees on the far shore up and into the sky. And in the midst, a silver arrow moved slowly forward, at its point, a dot, and behind that, a small eruption of water: a morning swimmer. No birds singing. No lapping of water on the rock where I sat. No sound of strokes. Only later, long after the silver arrow moved on, the ripples came.
You, up so long before me, you so dedicated and delighted, you so attuned to the water and its ways. As I watch you move across the scene like a slow motion comet, I think: I wish I could swim as smoothly as that. I wonder how cold the water is. How far out do you go, and how often? Are you an older person too? How sweet for you to be able to do this, to have the habit of doing this. I never feel completely at ease swimming, never having really mastered the breathing. What a blessing for you who have and can enjoy this smooth, steady, invigorating exercise.
Oh, bodies navigating worlds. What will you navigate today, Peter?
Later that day, I climbed Monadnock on the White Arrow trail. First, up the toll road, then up the rocky trail, choosing carefully where to put my weight when hoisting myself higher and higher, then out from under the canopy of trees into the blue, bright sky, and up and over the great granite blocks with their long slopes, their cracks, their scrabble summits, all the way to the very top.
Later, going own, a different set of muscles in action (been working on these ones recently), picking my way consciously, bracing and slithering, mapping out sequences, assessing stabilities, lowering myself stone by stone, step by step.
You, swimmer, graceful in your movement in your fluid environment. Me, climber, awkward and clumsy in my movement up and down over boulders and great heaps and slabs of rock .
But…partners.