One of the most beautiful images I've ever seen--
Years ago. Late summer. A lakefront in Michigan. An afternoon rainstorm beating down on the tree-tops, the lawns, the wooden docks, the picnic tables, and the windowpanes from which I watched the wind whip the water into waves and blur the shorelines.
A lone woman in the middle of the lake--swimming. Between white caps--stroke, stroke, breath; stroke, stroke, breath.
Though I can't tell you why exactly, I'm inclined to think that swimmer was, is, me.
Amidst debris of recent conversations regarding what happens to one's independence when in a relationship; feeling overwhelmed by the monotony of work and house chores; reading a book about living a good story, not simply writing one; and the news of a graduate school professor's passing--I'm trying to piece together the point, the message, the lesson...but the picture isn't clear. Yet.
Though it feels like a storm is brewing, I've got to keep swimming--taking those next strokes and breathing.
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