When I was ten, I learned to swim. To hold my breath, submerge, and move underwater. Only the torso, legs and arms of other people were visible. No heads. I never timed these underwater adventures but swam about like some kind of fish. Eyes open but no gills; just my expanded lungs, increasing capacity to stay under longer and longer. I became an orca scouting its prey. My feet, the fluke, pounding surface with each new breath. My mouth spewing water into the sunshine.
When summer came it was hot with no air conditioning. None in the house or in the car, just midriff top, ponytail and short shorts. I walked barefoot to the pool everyday, my soles grew tough from the concrete. When too hot to walk I rode my bike downhill, arms splayed out, look ma no hands, creating my own current of air all the way to the park and the pool. My legs were strong from the journey home.
I loved butterflies, little green snakes and swimming, but mostly the weekends to churn the homemade ice cream. The kids would turn the crank, add the rock salt and turn the crank more until the egg, cream and sugar mixture thickened. Mom would serve it up after dinner. There was no better way to chill than hand-churned ice cream.
temperature will rise
summer heat pours out memories
time not forgotten
dVerse Haibun on summer
photo courtesy of Karen McDougal at KarensChicNShabby