Goodness I love to swim.
I love slipping through water that is the same temperature as my skin. I love the way a cupped handful of water resists being pushed out of the way. I love the way my body feels, stretched all the way out, rolling in a rhythm, and weightless.
I especially like that my chest is weightless in water. That it stops pulling on my neck and shoulders and getting in my way. That for this interval I get a break from the pain this causes me the other 23 hours of the day.
I have a house thermometer, but it’s a cheap one. It only goes down to zero degrees. I also have a good, Northeast Kingdom thermometer that goes down to minus 60, but that one’s nailed to the outside wall of my milk house, a good hundred yards away across my dooryard and the paved road. Entirely too far from my kitchen door, in other words, to just casually “go check” on an early, arctic morning like this one. Especially before coffee — because in such cold as this, the trip requires dressing up: Continue reading
I like the first cup of coffee in the morning.
I like t-shirt sheets.
I like the Boston Red Sox.
I like Bob Dylan’s music.
I like the Beatles, too. And John Prine. I love John Prine.
I like Annie Dillard’s essay, living like weasels.
I like the sound of snow at 15 below.
I like Elmore Mountain glittering the way it looks to me on the way to work in January from up on West Hill, or actually by then it is probably Town Hill.
I like encountering wild things in wild places; I like the way we stop time when we pause and take each other in. Continue reading
This Day As-Is 