Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Fuel For Helicopters #1



She

The truth is not all of us have extraordinary stories. We are not all born brilliant or particularly talented in the arts, physically strong, or high jumpers. Our dreams, like our abilities, are nothing more than common. For me the lifetime goal is simple: remain kind and swim in four places. Oh, and I would like to know what it feels like to be loved.

In the meantime, I spend late spring in a house with a large pool up in the hills of Hollywood. House-sitting for the owners while they are in Europe. Or South America. The deal was sold when I saw the pool. The salary is nice, will help with living expenses … don’t worry … the sort we all have. But it’s the pool that sold me.

I could teach you how to swim. Feet should kick six small times in between each stroke. Breathe out while head submerged, tilt to side to inhale. Rotate shoulders so that as the arm enters the water, not the tiniest of splashes is made.

Quiet and pretty.
Weightless and strong.
Like pearls.
Like beginner’s love.

I shall go in now and then get out and walk the usual evening walk. Please do not interrupt me. I am trying to be kind. And quiet.

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