Embarkment
On the choppy surfaces of a lake, four women and two dogs climb aboard a red pontoon. Blithe smiles hover over this flat-bottomed boat as captain Rhonda putters them out of the cove and into the wide, blue lake. Each woman, except for one: buxom. The former three sport expensive sunglasses. The latter squints for a long time before remembering her glasses -- and puts them on. She wears dusty nothings; the day a friend moved out of her dumpy apartment, she had seen these in a pile of rubble, there, and plucked them up. They're groovy, and they were free.
Wind
The frenetic wind tosses their hair up into thin, quivering strands. It bats the sides of their faces, tickles their necks and whips everywhere. Long-haired, short-haired, brown and silver-haired women each in the prime of her particular time. Alabaster caps perch like ladies' hats atop choppy patches of the lake, but this won't obstruct their plans to swim: the sun shines strong today. The women peer at a landscape cloaked in dark blue; French ultramarine and cream mix with the dark green of the afternoon light like butter on a piece of toast.
Bodies
Each woman has a portly pair of arms, strung to torsos sitting tall, and staid. Rhonda, Marnie, Connie, and Jane. Marnie drives the boat, now, and pets a dog with her foot. The other pooch lies in a spiral on top of Jane's lap. They are elegant. There's no need to fret today. A little champagne runs though the courses of their veins. Fish fins bat underneath the boat as the pontoon rides above cool schools of flapping scales.
On the choppy surfaces of a lake, four women and two dogs climb aboard a red pontoon. Blithe smiles hover over this flat-bottomed boat as captain Rhonda putters them out of the cove and into the wide, blue lake. Each woman, except for one: buxom. The former three sport expensive sunglasses. The latter squints for a long time before remembering her glasses -- and puts them on. She wears dusty nothings; the day a friend moved out of her dumpy apartment, she had seen these in a pile of rubble, there, and plucked them up. They're groovy, and they were free.
Wind
The frenetic wind tosses their hair up into thin, quivering strands. It bats the sides of their faces, tickles their necks and whips everywhere. Long-haired, short-haired, brown and silver-haired women each in the prime of her particular time. Alabaster caps perch like ladies' hats atop choppy patches of the lake, but this won't obstruct their plans to swim: the sun shines strong today. The women peer at a landscape cloaked in dark blue; French ultramarine and cream mix with the dark green of the afternoon light like butter on a piece of toast.
Bodies
Each woman has a portly pair of arms, strung to torsos sitting tall, and staid. Rhonda, Marnie, Connie, and Jane. Marnie drives the boat, now, and pets a dog with her foot. The other pooch lies in a spiral on top of Jane's lap. They are elegant. There's no need to fret today. A little champagne runs though the courses of their veins. Fish fins bat underneath the boat as the pontoon rides above cool schools of flapping scales.
The luncheon.
Before this happened, back on land and, with a ravenousness on par with Alfred Hitchcock energy, wasps assailed their outdoor luncheon. Before Jane was stung, they tried ignoring the bees. But please. One prick, and they frantically retreated, clutching bowls and plates to their bosoms, teetering platters of fish on their forearms, and balancing most carefully the lime-cream sauce as the guilty bee lay dying on the picnic table. With a SLAM of the kitchen door, the meal was successfully converted to the indoor salon.
The indoor luncheon.
The dogs cheered at this return and circled the glass table and off-white wicker high-backed chairs where the women plopped down, ate, dribbled more effervescent wine into their tall, thin glasses, and chattered along those lines between personal news and impertinent gossip. Jane, who'd been stung, fell aloof, pondering her own social woes, and her distance made an alien out of her, perhaps a bit longer than she intended. The dogs shifted their positions and still, they begged.
Before this happened, back on land and, with a ravenousness on par with Alfred Hitchcock energy, wasps assailed their outdoor luncheon. Before Jane was stung, they tried ignoring the bees. But please. One prick, and they frantically retreated, clutching bowls and plates to their bosoms, teetering platters of fish on their forearms, and balancing most carefully the lime-cream sauce as the guilty bee lay dying on the picnic table. With a SLAM of the kitchen door, the meal was successfully converted to the indoor salon.
The indoor luncheon.
The dogs cheered at this return and circled the glass table and off-white wicker high-backed chairs where the women plopped down, ate, dribbled more effervescent wine into their tall, thin glasses, and chattered along those lines between personal news and impertinent gossip. Jane, who'd been stung, fell aloof, pondering her own social woes, and her distance made an alien out of her, perhaps a bit longer than she intended. The dogs shifted their positions and still, they begged.
The invitation.
But what a lake! It almost licked the front windows of the house with a windy spray, and drew each woman's gaze. They rose to swim. The one with the sting took forever to consider : the bathing ensemble. Then they all walked down to the dock, rigged, and backed away. Crescendo! Wind and wiles, the motor sang, and thoughts loosened themselves to the breeze creating space for a sensitive, clear joy.
Now
At this moment, the boat speeds along.
Now
At this moment, the boat speeds along.
They shall swim.
Finally, they will arrest. Marnie will cut the motor, and they'll rock for a moment in silence. Then, each woman will stand, derobe; each will jump into a giant blue wave. With an empty crew, one dog who cannot swim will jump, too. They'll hardly notice him at first, and then, as he sinks, one will take him by the hairy ribs. Four women will align themselves to the boat and pass the bundle of life between outstretched hands until, with a grin on the dogs grey lips, all four paws'll touch aboard. Relief! He will shake his spine, sending droplets in all directions. The body of water, Lake, will be busy gulping and will not have felt a thing. And the women will continue their swim.
Fin.
The blue-green, the French ultramarine. Titanium white. Great joy: women and water, freedom and family. Affluence, grace, and a peculiar thrift.
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