There was something holy about swimming on a Sunday morning.
No preacher lectured, no hymn was sung save for the humid breeze, still damp from last night’s rain. Even the doves perched on the lawn chairs with bowed heads, their beaks buried in solemn prayer into their feathered chests. The lifeguard dozed in his open box of an office. Peering over the cement edge, she smothered a giggle as his phone tumbled from his lax fingers below his lawn chair. Music burst from the tiny speakers, but the lifeguard snored on.
She laid back and drew her arms to her hip bones, her feet sweeping out and in with perfect rhythm to the faint beat. The trees swayed in the breeze, the long mesquite veils tickling the dry grass back and forth. The doves bobbed their heads and a few flapped their wings.
Encouraged, she dove down and jeted across the pool, leaping up to a gasp of sun and air. The music swelled and she flung her arms out, slapping down onto the surface like a star. Just as fast, her arms and legs contracted into a ball and she spun, twisting and spinning from one ladder to the other. Climbing up, she tottered on the edge of the pool, her left arm curled over her head and her right leg bent behind her. She raised her face to the sun and smiled to her audience. The doves blinked.
She flipped back and down, twisting again and again before coming up to the applause of a thousand tiny drops. The birds scattered, seeking refuge in the trees and the lifeguard jolted awake to a clap of thunder. But the bright streak across the still blue sky was not a bolt of lighting, but a single sunbeam bathing her in warmth.
For only a water sprite can move the heavens to both laugh and cry.
Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! A new fun post manana!
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