At first light I get on my bicycle, and ride along the river Eure.  The bike path skirts fields and small housing developments, hugs the river, goes under a low bridge which requires a ducked head.

This morning, fog hugged the ground, draping around bushes and humps, wrapping steps, skirting atop the water.  The sky was that indefinite color my father used to describe as “sky blue pink,”  vivid and crisp.

My destination was the swimming pool in my friend Edith’s back yard.  I’ve been a regular visitor since it was built several years ago.  We used to swim in the nearby Lac des Deux Amants, but since the pool was built, it has become our lake.  The advantages are manifold – it’s heated in the winter, it’s accessible from inside the house, it’s open all day every day until late in the evening, and there is hardly ever anyone in it.

I swim whenever I can, at whatever hour I can. That means that occasionally I’m swimming under the stars, or in a rainfall, or amongst the snowflakes. This morning my arms sliced through dreamy mist; Edith was in the pool too, and as we passed we talked a bit, though we’re both serious about getting our laps in so we mostly stuck to business.

Once out, warm and dry, we sat down for morning coffee and fat slabs of toast with butter and jam, allowing ourselves thirty minutes to remake the world, then I rode off to start my work day, and Edith headed into her studio to paint.

All days are good; a swim day is even better!