My last swim in 2003 in a mountain lake.

Labor Day’s gone.
No lifeguard.
But the warmth of September
And Awosting’s crystal clear water
Beckon me.
Despite the threat of a fine
I search for a spot where
The ranger can’t find me;
A pebbly spot with rocks
And water plants to explore.
Glorious with the
Wrong-rightness of it all,
I slip into the still water,
Warm as brandy,
Smooth as silk.
I hug the shore,
Thrilling to the sun’s
Dancing pattern
On the bottom,
A shelf of red rock
Too deep to touch.
A small tree drowns,
Its tenacious grip
Torn from the rock ledge;
Roots still breathing air;
Its fuzzy needles
Home to newts and
Frogs and skimmers.
A hint of autumn reflects
From a maple that
Bends to peer at the
Intruder that dares swim alone.
The chirring herald of crickets
And scrapings of Katydids
Welcome the clandestine swimmer
To shore.
The pale western sky,
Adorned with powder puff clouds,
Runs to the blue of
Chickweed blossoms.
I will wait
For next year and
Swim again.