Two Pools, Two Pokes, and Magic

Daybreak cracked the shell on the day, dripping dawn through the slits in the blinds, waking the room’s contours: door, oval mirror, bedside table where my silver hearing aid charger stared back with tiny yellow eyes that said yes, they’re charged and ready for you. Yawning, I reluctantly threw back the covers, stumbled into the kitchen, and swallowed my morning pills. 

The trash man hadn’t come yet.  Three old throw rugs I’d forgotten to take out sat rolled by the door.  I threw a coat over my green striped pj shorts and shirt, slipped on my oldest Birk clogs, and waddled across the yard with the rugs under one arm, tip-toeing through wet mud.  Rain had fallen all night.  The sharp wind cut my bare legs. I felt silly, and hoped the neighbors weren’t watching.

After depositing the rugs in our brown trash receptacle, I turned into the wind, pulled the coat collar tight around my neck, and hurried back toward the house, passing the pontoon boat - a whale-like Gray Hulk beached on our new trailer. 

Something was wrong.  One of the support poles had fallen down inside, allowing rain to accumulate in the cover's low spots and drag it down.  This was not good. 

I hurried inside, changed into old clothes, grabbed the small stepladder, and headed back to do rescue duty.  Getting into the boat would prove challenging; we’d made sure the cover was fastened down securely for the winter. I twisted my body between the straps (between the second and third straps in the picture if you count left to right), cocked open the side door, and slithered into the boat with reptilian grace.  Well, almost.  My right heel got stuck.

Inside, two engorged double-D-sized breasts full of water hung before me, flaunting their great size, pulling tensely on the rest of the cover.  I poked one with the support pole, deflating it - sawaaaash - and then the other – sawaaaash-ssh-sssssh - and propped the pole back in place. My job was done.

But wait. 

Enchantment. The wind sang a breathy, hoarse song outside. I sprawled in the dimly-lit cave, an adult child in a charmed tent aglow with soft dawn-light leaking through the fabric cover.  Isolation got busy - scrubbed me clean, removed blinders, inspired imagination.  Magic!  Like a quiet fetus, I lay inside this separated womb of space - this whale - that belonged to all that wild, thrashing life going on out there.

After a few minutes, at just the right moment, I knew I must go.  I pushed my feet through the slit opening between the pontoon and the strapped cover – sort of like probing a shoelace through an eyelet – and felt for the ladder.  It hadn’t tipped over.  Good.  I crawled out, emerging from the awe and uncomplicated wonder changed and better prepared to embrace the rest of the day.