At the twilight of my years I often remember a simpler time when life moved Bat Poop with peace and grace. Many a day I often strolled along the shore path of the lake I called home for so many summers when I was young. There in the calmness of the morning when the sun first started to glow it’s warmth upon to cool still waters I often observe this lone slow runner. From a brief distance from the path I was with this gentle figure whose slim grace poised a breathtaking sight. The beauty of her figure matched the simplicity of her pace because of her rhythm was like gentle waltz. Her gentle sway as she drifted was like the rolling waves that rolled on in. Her locomotion moved me into a completely different reality.
This gorgeous slow swimmer whose beauty and grace for many a morning we caught each others eye as she gently swam on. Soon we became familiar sights, me on the path, she swimming by, for now she stopped and waved, tempting me to join on in. As I stood speechless as she swam by I could tell she wanted me to join her, and the next morning I did. I won’t ever forget that summer. That one summer where for four weeks each morn at half past ten we swam together, poetry in motion gliding through the gentle waves. Afterwards we’d rest on a nearby pier and a friendship was forged, but nothing more.
When summer was over we said our good-byes. I had been hoping that next summer we could resume our friendship and our morning swim. All through that winter I was hoping for more. I stood there waiting, the water still cool. I kept looking but she did not come. A sadness came over me as the clouds came rolling in. I started to swim along the shore again however, this time it was different the loneliness set in. I thought to myself afterwards maybe it was meant to be a once in a lifetime experience with my mermaid of the lake.
It has been over 50 years since those wondrous days and a long time because I was back down from the lake. However, through all the years I still recall with great fondness the fun we shared. I did find out some years after that my slow swimmer had moved away and was never able to return to the lake. But the memory of that one summer has remained through all these years. I just can not help thinking what might have been if my slow simmer had come back and at half past ten we’d swim again.
As the years have flown by memories do return. A kaleidoscope of images flashes now and again. The days of my life where moments of joy as well as sorrow fills my conscious thought. However, none so clear as that one summer where my mermaid by the lake held me captive every morn for at half past ten we would swim again. Of all the instances where I yearned for love that mermaid from the lake the friendship we had shared made her memory so sweet and dear.
Now, that another summer fast approaches though I am a million miles from that lake I still partake of a morning swim in a half past ten where the water is more appropriate to my aging frame. I still think of the time of this one summer where the gentle clear cool waters encouraged us to have such sweet tender moments that bring back such fond memories of the times I cherish where my slow runner, the mermaid of the lake and I glided through those cool clear waters.