Swimming

Morning Swim

The early morning clouds and fog are burning off. Peg is swimming back to the cottage, she is a very strong swimmer, much more at home in the water than I.

I get up from the deck chair, gather her beach towel and walk to the end of the deck. Peg strides confidently out of the water and up the stairs to meet me. I hold the towel out and wrap it around her.

Her body might be cold but her lips are warm, we kiss.

I hold her firmly in an extended embrace.

“I’m going in to take a shower,” she says, then quickly disappears, leaving me standing there aroused.

Oh well, we can do that later, I think to myself, when the others are out walking the streets of Lake George Village. I like it better in the afternoon anyway, I can get a nap afterwards, then get cleaned up and have dinner with the others who always bring the makings of a nice dinner, and wine, always wine.

I have my own private dialogue. A private dialogue then, and now as I have this dream, this dream in the middle of the morning, sitting in my easy chair thinking of the times we had together.

How am I ever going to find a woman like her? More of my private dialogue, trying to hold the memory before it leaves me forever. Leaves me as she has, forever.

Although, I am slightly better now, not grieving as hard or as frequently. The memories of our time at the lake are triggered by the open photo albums I have scattered throughout the house, but I am afraid to close them, afraid to put them away lest I lose her.

I am resigned to the fact that she is never coming back, but still, the memories are a dream I may awaken from where everything will be as it was. She will be taunting me; I will get aroused and the fog will part forever.