over the water
John and I walk along the edge of the pool, holding hands. It is a bright day. It is a short day. Being in Alaska in winter means hour long days, lingering in the space of many mere moments in the lives of the rest of the nation, clinging to a television somewhere in the hopes that each episode will bring them closer to understanding. Or at least universal dismissal. Either way. They both do the same thing on a primitive level. They both calm, one just tends toward organic structure, while the other tends toward chaos. John's hand is soft in mine. He doesn't know that today will be our last together. In less than 20 hours I will be gone, and I've been avoiding talking to him about it for months. I hope he understands when I finally go.
Today John and I decided to use our brief daylight hours to go swimming in the outdoor pool. Yes, I know you're saying, "Isn't that freezing?" but you need to remember that when one is used to the cold, being just a little colder is just as relative as a splash in the river and some lemonade on a hot summer day in Alabama. We all have our preferences, John's and mine are just based on a different set of premises. And for that matter, John's premises aren't all that similar to mine either. He's something of a recluse, you see, and I had to drag him out here. Being raised here doesn't help his complexion.
Today John and I decided to use our brief daylight hours to go swimming in the outdoor pool. Yes, I know you're saying, "Isn't that freezing?" but you need to remember that when one is used to the cold, being just a little colder is just as relative as a splash in the river and some lemonade on a hot summer day in Alabama. We all have our preferences, John's and mine are just based on a different set of premises. And for that matter, John's premises aren't all that similar to mine either. He's something of a recluse, you see, and I had to drag him out here. Being raised here doesn't help his complexion.