03 | When the Water Called

By the time the market was unpacked, the sun had climbed high enough to warm the courtyard walls to the touch.

The air had thickened. Felt even in the shadow of home.

Her skin still held a trace of salt from the bicycle ride, dried softly at the nape of her neck, and through the open shutters she could smell warm stone baking in the sun - dusty, and almost honeyed.

All morning the water had been calling.

Not loudly.

Just there.

Glimmering.

Waiting.

She slipped into her patterned one-piece swimsuit - the one that always made her feel like she had stepped out of an editorial shoot - and lifted a sun-softened towel from its hook, stepping barefoot across sandstone still warm from the day.

Its surface held that smooth worn texture only old stone has, softened underfoot by years of heat and water. Nearby, jasmine drifted lightly in the breeze.

The scent of sun on plaster.

Wet earth in shaded pots.

Something green and flowering.

At the pool’s edge she paused. Her feet beginning to sense the warning of heat. Light moved over the water in trembling patterns.

Then she slid in.

Cool water climbed her skin. First waist, then chest, then hair. She let out a small involuntary breath at the first touch.

Relief. Her body answering something older than thought.

She floated onto her back until her ears slipped beneath the surface and the world quieted into that underwater hush. Everything so far away. Only her breathing close.

The faint movement of water.

Muted rustling in the palms.

Below her closed eyelids the sun pressed amber shapes that pulsed and shifted in living patterns. Even darkness glowed.

She drifted.

Face warm in sunlight.

Body cool below.

Held between heat and water.

Time loosening.

The pool smelled faintly of minerals and stone and that almost ancient scent water carries where it gathers against rock. The taste of salt lingered on her lips. Her shoulders moved gently each time she rose and sank again.

Nothing to finish.

Nowhere to be.

Just this.

When she finally stood, water silvered down her arms. She wrapped herself in the towel and lowered into the wooden deck chair, damp skin warming almost instantly under the sun.

Eyes closed.

Face lifted upward.

Listening.

A bee moving somewhere through flowering vines.

Leaves whispering.

Water touching stone.

She breathed in jasmine again. Warm plaster. Salt.

And thought how some luxuries ask for money,

while others ask only time.

A swim at noon.

Sun through closed eyelids.

A body unhurried.

A life spacious enough to disappear into water.

She smiled at the thought.

Then opened her eyes to the light dancing across the courtyard wall and, without thinking twice, slid back into the pool.

Once had not been enough and she had nothing but time.

______________

Gathered for the Water

Patterned swimsuit

Sun-washed Turkish towel

Sunglasses

Wide-brim hat

Linen coverup