Diving In - July 6 2026

 

Diving In

July 6 2026

The lake is still

after baking all day

under a hot summer sun.

Small branches float.

There’s the flotsam of severed leaves

bits of cones and seeds

dandelion fluff.

Pine needles

broken twigs

and dead insects

moulder like pond scum

on its warm flat surface. 

The messiness of nature,

but also her exuberance

and excess.

Mostly, though, I notice the yellowish pall,

the blush of pollen on top

and painting a thin even band 

on half-submerged rocks.

But in my memory, the lake is cold, clear, fresh,

while this brings to mind

decay and neglect

 — a tub

where the tepid water was left,

and no one bothered to scrub

the stubborn ring

of dead skin and dried soap.

Tomorrow, a good wind will cut the heat

skim the surface clean

and refresh the sun-warmed lake

with cold water from the depths.

Leaving nature

the glossy postcard

you’d put up on the fridge

  — a manicured, benevolent, sanitized aesthetic

instead of nature

in tooth and claw;

all the messiness

and complexity

of life on earth.

Nevertheless, I swim.

Through the pollen, where insects will feed,

past the branches

that will water-log, then sink,

and brushing aside the leaves, twigs, and fronds

that in time will rot.

Yes, bears shit in the woods,

fish slough their slime,

bacteria  grow.

As we all live and die

and decompose,

diving in

regardless.