A Late Summer Night's Swim

Turning on the submerged lighting to the swimming pool transforms the lanai into an aquatic dream. I sigh at the sight; it’s as though the Northern Lights have melted, filling my pool with a phosphorescent liquid. I slip beneath the glossy surface, feeling the cool weight of the water as it carries me deeper into itself. Ripples shimmer away from me like lucid sound waves, ebbing into oblivion. Tipping back, I surrender to my aqueous bed, staring up at the black sky and wondering at its vastness. Is there a beginning and an end?

The stars silently glisten, but I imagine if they were to make a sound it would be as whimsical as wind chimes and as holy as an angel’s sigh.

Like a stray leaf, I am floating slowly around the circumference of the pool in a world of my own, a world in-between the luminous serum which buoys me up and the dense soulfulness of the night; drifting like a cloud above my limitations. Time seems suspended as I become one with nothing, cushioned like an embryo in a sultry womb, bathetic and calm.

How is it that I’ve waited so long to enjoy this intimate tryst with myself? Have I forgotten how romantic life can be?
“Ah,” you say, “you need a man to be romantic.”
Oh do I?

Romance is a seductive ritual, reserved not only for couples, but lovers of self. I’ve stirred my infatuation with life; submerged myself in the indigenous, raising girlish goose flesh, as I gently bob without boundaries atop the magical surface of my swimming pool, witnessed only by the jeweled stars, pinned like broaches, to the August sky.