Dark Dreams

Her eyes were glued to his eyes which were glued to the glass windows watching the never ending torrent of rain.  He had been like this for the past ten days now, ever since the clouds had gathered and the rain had started.  As endless sheets of rain were hurled down from the heavens he had remained a statue watching it all happen, taking in every single drop as it hit the earth in a quiet explosion of water.  His mother had become a paragon of worry during the ten days of his stillness, her hands clasping and unclasping, a light cold sweat of despair framing her face as she wondered why he had not moved.  It was not for a lack of effort on her part, she had tried to entice him with various favourite foods, had even tried to push or shove him from his sentinel stand, but he would not move, would not take his eyes from the rain.

He rarely blinked, never said a word and hardly moved.  His mother could hear him breathing slowly when she was next to him, could even hear his heart faintly beat, but he could not be roused to interact, to speak or to engage.

The rain was a thing of beauty.  The sun never truly broke past the dark and graying clouds during the whole ten day period, but a hint of a rainbow could be seen towards the end.  The drops of water, tears in the sky really, ranged in size as if a military bombardment of various guns were continually raining shells down onto the grass.  The ground itself was sodden, no doubt of that, but somehow the water percolated through the ground each and every day, pooling for only a few minutes during the heaviest periods of the downpour.  The colour of the water itself changed over the course of the ten days, from a clear pearl luminescence to hints of purples and blues framing the clear droplets falling in the later stages.

He had never seen anything so beautiful, so captivating as the fluid that fell from the sky.  He longed to be outside, to be running across the ground but he could not move.  His pupils became engorged, his eyes restless in their lazy meander, trying to take the sight in.

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Swimming Deep

There is a certain something as you dive deep into any body of water, of being submerged and engulfed by the liquid, that feels quite alright by me.  It is refreshing,  liberating even.  It is nice to arch the back, take one last gulp of fresh air and then push down deep into the water, to feel that last kick of your legs in the air as you descend near vertical as the water embraces you in a tight fluid hug.  If I get chance I will happily swim anywhere I can, though as of late the sea and the local swimming pool have been my areas of contentment.

The German Lake.

Almost a year and a half ago I had the opportunity to swim in the German lakes, SW of Berlin, and it was a chance I took often, and with great relish.  Half way around the lake I discovered that there was a patch of secluded sandy soil, where the grasses fed into the water with reeds swaying lightly either side of this little enclave.  It was perfect, it was heavenly.  Away from the main ‘commercial’ area of the busy lake, it was a nest of shelter and calm.  It was to be there that I swam naked for the first time in public, clear under the midday sun.  It was pure bliss.  On busier days it was where I swam with an old couple, out into the open water, where I saw young couples in the full bloom of love snuggle and hug in the warm shallows, and where I saw young families enjoying the company of each other, of brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers.

It is not just the inherent beauty of swimming in water that I find relaxing and comforting, rather it is the pure escape, of experiencing a wholly different environment  from which we are used to spending our time in.  It is bliss, pure and simple.