The Spot

She's out there in the water. I see her. The water drips off her hair, down her breasts to her stomach and I hold my breath to try and not let the moment pass.

She dives in and is gone. Her presence known only by the soft ripples that hum outward from the spot she once stood.

I strip.

The sun, it's hot and I feel it begin to burn my skin as I run down the sandy hill to the edge of the lake. Naked, the wind warm and tender, I step into the cold water. The temperature strikes my foot like pins, but I step further. The water reaches my groin then my stomach and I drop under giving myself to the cold lake. Bubbles let from my nose and above me the world is bright.

Above the surface, blinking the water from my eyes, I search for her, but find only the fading ripples of her memory.

My hands cupped, I pull myself through the water. It's thick like oil from the silt.

I come to the spot she once stood. And stand. The cold water evaporates from me into the summer wind.

She hasn't come up for air.

I bend to look down the shore to see if she hides behind the brush. I yell, "Hey?"

The water around me is silent and cold and I shiver.

I turn to the shore, cup my hands and pull myself through the oil. Mounting the shore, water dripping down my body, I turn to the water. It's silent and cold and distant. The ripples, they blur away.

I don my clothes then leave the spot to push through the thick brush that lines the water.

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