Tuesday, June 17, 2003

Little Pieces

I remember little pieces, little treasures ferreted away in a cool dry place.

Swimming, it's been so long. Swimming is like Gattica: so many people moving in unison, quiet obedience to the lines and rules. So many so close and no one speaks.

But today I don't notice. My mind is racing, turning a million combinations. What can I do for her? How can I communicate? What can I give?

Long strokes, I glide through the water smooth and strong. I am vital these days, coming into my own after years of awkward confusion. I have come far.

Finally the safe clicks: the silent tremor of a tumbler falling into place. I'll bake muffins.

- Mike Wood

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