I found this draft of what I call a ‘mood piece’ written more than a year ago; words attempting the capture of an instant, words more about emotion and sentiment than about having anything important to say.
My gait is unsteady on the terracotta tiles as I walk, dripping, towards the open shower next to the baby pool. Unsteady because I’d climbed out of the water affer 12 laps in sets of 4, each set done in about 6 mins.
The sunlight was gently shining at nine o’clock and the air was tranquil and kind. I pressed the knob. A burst of water came forth in a warm embrace.
Standing there bathed in warmth, I turned and looked at my friends a stone’s throw away, milling by the edge of the Olympic-sized pool.
Flashes of dragonfly summers and of youth gone by, carefree days of physical agility and neverending energy and sunlight filled my mind’s eyes. For one scintillating moment, I found myself solidly and simply and fleetingly in the present.
Why wasn’t the ‘publish’ button ever hit? I thought the description of the moment too trivial, a trite attempt at sentimentalizing something as ordinary as pool training.
Obviously, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve realized such moments, ordinary as they appear, don’t come round as often as I think they do.
These are the small and lovely things. These are the sedimentary layers of memory, forming the shape of friendships deep below the surface of life.