Spirit Like Water

I found the way to right my equilibrium.

It began with, of all things, a telephone call from someone fairly new to my life, a man with a barely-accented, mellifluous voice and an array of conversational offerings I found completely engaging - the Stanislavski method, poet Adrienne Rich, provincialism- that magically occupied me for every bit of an hour.

An hour. And I hate talking on the phone.

Still not sure how that happened, but grinning nonetheless.

With such a stellar first act under my belt, I had no choice but to maintain the high, choosing to take my daily walk on Belle Isle.

Under a bright blue sky full of puffy clouds and a steady breeze, I walked along the river, meeting four beagles I needed to pet (including one in a lime green life jacket - adorable), listening to the especially high rushing water and getting smiles from strangers left and right.

Good vibrations abounded.

The dock over the quarry pond was unexpectedly gone, but people were still casting lines into it.

Life happens and we adjust. There are still fish to be caught.

After a couple of times around the island, I climbed down a path to find an empty rock, took off my shoes and submerged my legs in the river up to the knees.

All around me, people lazed in the sun, dogs frolicked at the water's edge and kids squealed because they could.

There were some brave souls in kayaks working their way through the high water, but that was about the most ambitious thing I saw going on.

I watched a paddleboarder go by with two geese devotedly following in his wake.

Sun on my back, legs in the water, plans later.

Spoiler alert to that regular reader who prefers me sad: Too. Damn. Bad.