I will not forget last night’s swim until I forget everything. I went, with L&P, down to the harbour 1/2 a mile from where I’ve been staying these past three days, nestled on Sweden’s west coast. L had urged me to experience swimming in the dark.
There’s a jetty there, and a swimming ladder - Sweden thinks all the time of getting in and out of her waters. There’s a bench on the jetty to leave clothes, sit down to take shoes off, put them back on.
In the just-about dark twilight of late summer, the stars coming out after their long Scandinavian rest, we stripped off - no costume or shyness required. L&P insisted I go in first promising me a surprise, and not the jellyfish which L scanned for using a torch.
I took my silhouette down the ladder into the sea. I swam, and as I stroked the water saw sparks fly from my fingertips. “Oh my god!” I exclaimed. “Oh, oh … wow!” I could think of nothing more poetic. As I moved in the water, it seemed stars were born.
I looked up at the sky - stars. I looked into the water - stars. Starlight everywhere. Starlight within reach and starlight beyond imagination.
L&P came in to join the celebration, the firework party, the bioluminescent joy of seawater - plankton when ruffled - in dark-skied warmer waters of this late season.
The current drifted us away from the jetty - we took the light show with us, between our fingers and toes. We laughed, sang, played with the magic of the night - British, Australian, and Belgian, in Swedish waters, nothing between our skins and the heavens’ gift of freedom, of joy.
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