There was still a coolness in the air as Thomas walked through the park. The warming sun was about to break over the old maples by the playground, a golden gradient emanating from behind the treetops into the azure skies above him. Beautiful, he thought. He strolled on with the energy only a morning person could muster and made his way to the poolside locker rooms.
Once inside, he changed into his usual bathing suit and crammed his gym bag into one of the lockers. They were cramped and who knows how old, the sort designed for longevity over function. But Thomas quickly moved on, shivering slightly from stepping on the cold tile.
Now on the marginally warmer concrete, he examined the area before diving in. You never know with a community pool, he remembered. Pretty soon he’d have fallen leaves to contend with, but for now the water was actually fairly clean. Past the little fence around the pool deck Thomas saw someone walking their dog a little farther in the park. Not exactly private, he conceded, but at least it’s quiet.
Thomas dove smoothly into the cold water, relishing its velvety feel on his skin. It was always a relief to enter a pool, replacing the bath of empty air outside with the bath of all-enveloping water within. Sounds were muted, and his vision was mostly of the bottom of the pool punctuated by regular but quick glimpses of the water's surface whenever he lifted slightly to take a breath.
Here was a mindfulness he could only experience while swimming, when he chose to focus purely on his breath and leave all other thoughts behind.
He would feel the cool air pass his slightly parted lips, warming a bit as it moved through his throat. Ah, the inhale, when even his eyes relaxed. He would know-but-not-know the moment when his breath switched from inhale to exhale, then feel his lungs slowly deflate as the air bubbled back out through his lips. A turn of the head, and the process began again. The few thoughts that came to him of swimming were effortlessly let go, irrelevant. Even the swoop and turn at the pool's edge, when he could feel-but-not-feel his body as one divine wing, was insignificant in the presence of his breath.
An empty early morning pool was his holy space.
It's been a week of steem introspection for me. What constitutes value? It seems to me the fork has made an unfortunate but predictable move in conflating payout with value. I am a one year steemian, I am learning how to use my written voice just as many others of us are.
For me the Fork, my first, has been a massive mind fuck. I am considering writing an unhappy puppy post about the fork in my back, but I fear retribution by downvote. What is this witchery? It's not right.
I have been hesitant to publish this week, not sure if what I put here is good enough.This freewrite is no exception. In this I was trying to improve my descriptive skills - description is something I avoid. It sounds good to me, but is it?
There is no image because I have already spent in excess of two hours on this post. I hope you can provide your own image. For those of you who think a post without a picture (@esteem) is not good enough, I wish you all the best. I wish that too for all you whales out there "curating", but I'd like to ask you, what do you make in two hours of watching the numbers, hitting some keys and not reading a thing?
Present company excepted. Thank you so much for reading my work.