Recently I’ve been trying to swim more. When I was a kid, you could barely get me out of the water. I loved floating in Higgins Lake and watching the minnows dart through the weeds.

I miss lake water. It is so sweet. It tastes like home and summer and safety. The salt water of the bay always makes me recoil a little bit. Chlorine is artificial and strange. Somehow, I expect all water I swim in to be sweet and still feel shocked when it isn’t. My hair dries different from salt and chlorine than it does from fresh water.

But I live by the ocean, or rather the bay now, and not the lake. So I swim in saltwater. Up at 6:20, when the sun rises, I dip into the 56 degree water and swim laps. I’m not swimming very many laps, as I don’t have much stamina and, to be honest, the cold water makes it harder to catch my breath. But it doesn’t feel cold when I’m in it. It is refreshing and cleansing. I see the sunrise light up the city & the bay bridge. I see a rainbow and the moon over the mountains. I swim alongside the cormorants (like calls to like) and the geese and the ducks and the gulls. All I think about is the water: how far I am, what stroke I’m doing, if the tide is gently tugging me away. I watch the fisherman on the rocks and he watches me. And I watch Sam on his driftwood, reading his book, waving, and smiling. Offering me a towel when I finish. Holding my bag while I change in the bathroom.

The world is so beautiful and Sam is the most beautiful part of it.

I wonder what it would be like to be a cormorant. To dive in the cool ocean and feel my wings get heavy with the salt water. To dry my wings in the warm sun as I perch on a rock. To take off and soar into the mountains. To be iridescent.