Floating under the desert moon, replete with Spanish rice and brotha/motha love. The pool is sparsely lit, and a man walks slowly across, pushing float bells. The water is warmed from the relentless sun and silky, lapping against my ears. A woman with plate sized goggles glides by in a modified breast stroke, her odd frog kick slapping the water in a steady rhythm. Mom bobs and stretches, demonstrating her water aerobic moves. Carlton's free style stroke is strong and silent and even. The air is heavy with desert monsoon but feels cool against my skin.
My body, often unweildy on land, is light and supple. I float back to childhood, to care free, to sensation and bliss.
Stuff--what?
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