31st March 2021 - Leaf Buds
The air feels heavy today. A thick haze veils the sun, diffusing light and muting colour.
I run to the pond because I feel too sluggish to tolerate a long walk. I am hot and red faced when I arrive. Dust and pollen tickle my nose.
There is a short queue. While I wait, I notice large leaf buds on the trees, pale pink with green frills at their edges. I sneeze into my mask.
The water is a relief. Something in me relaxes as the cold claps me awake. My breath expands. With each stroke of my arms I reach and splay my fingers, feeling the water flow between them. I duck my head and feel the water soothe irritated senses.
There is a cormorant on one of the life rings beyond the swimming area. Prehistoric and serpentine, it curves its neck over its back and tweaks tail feathers. It is nice to see this familiar character.
I swim two laps. On the second I am distracted by a loud conversation between two swimmers. I feel a flicker of irritation. It is inconsiderate to be so loud, do they not realise that they are disturbing the peace for everyone else? I catch the thought and recognise the partiality of this perspective. This place is one of peace and reflection to me, like a church or temple, so conversations like this feel like desecration. But it is also a place of connection and community for others. If I want silence, I should arrive earlier in the day.
Despite these ruminations, I leave the water feeling clear and content. My skin is red and my eyes wide.
I dress in the meadow and run out. Whereas the run to the pond was like riding a bicycle with the breaks on, the run back feels like freewheeling, with an engine.
