The weather on Friday was not cold enough to keep the Regulars away.
Sitting around after a spin in the water, one told stories of a lost swim fin. How it was found a few years later, before the undergrowth had bloomed. 20 feet of water can be awfully clear early in the Spring.
2 were there who had been there on Sunday. Pointed to a spot where 3 people had been. This time of year, there are so few people that you notice. Pointed across the pond in the direction of the likely route. It could happen to any of us.
And so, a few people gathered on the shores as the sun set.
A guitar and a candle. A poem and a few words from Henry's book.
The Earth's Eye.
Voices raised in song. "We're All Swimming to The Other Side"
A lone swimmer remained in the water; ripples were the only things left behind. She stayed past the closing horn, past the dying of the light. (A swimmer after my own heart. If I could, I'd live in Walden. Not "AT" Walden, like Thoreau, but "IN", like a mermaid.)
The candle echoed the sunset. The cloud cover made the sunset darker and seemed to steal time from us. But the light broke through on the horizon.
(The first time I swam across, the dark clouds made me lose track of time. On my return lap, they had cleared and given me back several hours of sunlight. I sang "Blue Skies" to myself, faith in the sky.)
And here is the breakthrough of the light. With help from my photographer friend, and an open shutter.
Walden remains whether we can see it or not.
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