It's been an exceptional summer here in the Hill Country - exceptionally cool (the coolest in 35 years of faded memories; I don't think we hit 100 degrees all summer) and exceptionally wet (the rivers are full and still running swift; I kayaked more days than I swam). So the 90 degree days of late September have been a welcome opportunity to squeeze in some last blasts of summer, even while the humidity has lifted to the point the thermometer out back read a chilly 60 degrees at sunrise this morning.
So I went down to the river for a last summer swim (the fall swimming season starts tomorrow) and took my time splashing up to the first big rock, pausing long enough to look around at the cypress trees just beginning to turn, checking out the action underwater; the water finally has cleared to a pale aqua-green and fish and turtles are easy to watch.
The water surface was calm, a translucent white sheet reflecting the sky. The air was warm. 81 degrees Fahrenheit. The atmosphere was dreamy. Two kayakers were coming downstream. A young guy shirtless showing a chest and belly decorated with tattoos and a girl in a swim suit top and blue jean shorts walked in the shallows. Swimming upsteam towards the setting sun, I wondered if this is what going to the light is like when you're dying. I wondered if it could be as good as this.
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