The silken threads of sunlight that poured forth that pathway from my sliding swimming self to the heavens where Jesi waits for me are still there on most days. They capture my attention down near the cove, when in the late afternoon sun weeks ago they told me Jesi was waiting at their heavenward end. But now I see them only for their beauty. For they seem to have emptied of that magic they once held. They still stretch to heaven, but Jesi must have moved on to other pursuits, for I no longer feel her pull. I no longer feel the yearning so strong to cross that sunlit bridge.
So I swim on, making my body curve following the lead of my arm, watching people meandering along the shore; the thing I avoided most when the magic of feeling Jesi was upon me. For any connection with humankind would instantly break the Jesi-spell.
Turning and stretching my stroke ahead of me, the water is liquid gel. A glass sheen I skate and skim along as if I truly belong. I am meant to be here. I do not remember ever feeling so connected to the water as this, as I age and my bones weaken, my joints groan, and I gasp for breath, stretching my lungs until they might burst. Yet here in this moment I belong and I rejoice in the joy of it.
I wonder how this is possible…how I could move in this unnatural human state? I feel like I have the wings of an angel or the fins of a dolphin. As if I am lifted by some unfathomable force. An extraordinary power that carries me so that I hover slightly higher above the water than is actually possible. I am carried for an instant and then lowered once more as if the power has gone out of me. Like the surge of a wave or a gust of wind lifting and gently allowing a leaf to fall. And on my own again, the wind ruffing the waves knocks the rhythm out of me and I return to the long struggle, bobbing and bouncing until I reach the main beach.