Rain descends from leaden southern sky; rain pours, rain dashes against asphalt and steams into a foggy morning. Surprising warmth surrounds, swimming between raindrops.
TV chatters in the background. Refrigerator hums. Soft voices. Patter of sandals against ceramic tile in kitchen nook.
I love Windward Point. Love the small units, the coziness, the lanai. The wind sometimes rattles fiercely through the door, creating a tunnel of shrieking sound. Not today. Today humidity settles around the carpeting, the heron statue in the corner, the mangos ripening on the counter.
My mother opens the door to the lanai, then closes it. A breeze blows from the south-east, rippling waves on the back bay. Dolphins sheer fins through brackish water. Will they leap? No, they ease through the bay effortlessly, oblivious of rain.
Music flutters, muted, several units away. TV off, blessed silence resumes.
I remember stroking the warm water in the pool yesterday, in underwater bliss. Water smooth and velvet surrounded, teased, invited one to forget everything except motion and wet. Where does water begin and person end? How do we separate the world so readily into opposites when bliss shimmers in the realization of water-wet-awareness-stroking-joy… inseparable motion of stroke, stroke, stroke.
Jump in. Let it devour us, heedless. See if you can measure where the dolphin dives and crests.
Or perhaps your dolphin-self already knows…