My head thumps. My head thumps since Thursday. Thursday when temperatures into the eighties took me to Walden.
On the beach inside black skin churning sweat heat and late day sun beating on sand on water inviting me. I think warm. So I leave black skin swim cap on stone.
Dive in. Look down. Sun through water green light synthesis of plant. Mouth blow strong away.
Feel the creeping fringe of cold fingering skin putting out furnace of day heat. Edging under hair line, under skin line, into bones of skull.
I am swimming skimmingly. The water sailing under black torso long and sleek and slender. Feel it slipping effortless by as in life I race through day not knowing where it is I am going.
Really. Where is it we are going with such haste?
Yet with such perfect motion I am hooked into the act of doing.
I feel the cold inching into the bones of my hands, my palms crawling up the nerves paths into fingers telling them to close down circuits to my command. My brain is curling in at the corners cringing in the cold of spring flow current of the tideless winded water. Yet it works, it speaks to me of cold. It directs the finger children to “group together, lay flat against each other, for you work best against the water if you work together.” But they won’t. The message sent, gets lost.
And I am lost to the rhythm of the skimming slender black form that I was. Now sunken limbs I am bending curled cold knowing the meaning of it is to struggle back to sand to rock to sun to warm where brain and fingers will shape, will work words again.
Tap keys to write stories of where life races me without me knowing where it is I am going.
And still three days later brain thumps reminders that it doesn’t like racing me into the cold unknowing.