kicking and kicking but going nowhere?

I’ve never been much of a flutter-kicker. More of an arm-stroker. But when the masters swim workout calls for 100m freestyle kick, well, you kick. And it feels like an eternity to the other end.

Some people seem to have the gift of flutter-kicking, propelling themselves along like a speed boat powered by an outboard motor. Me? I’m more of a putterer. Not for want of effort, mind you. I’ll churn up a wake like nobody’s business and go NOWHERE!

Which is a bit embarrassing, especially if the people who share your lane are either piling up behind you or catching you up and tugging on your feet so they can pass.

Fortunately, today I had my very own lane. So when the workout called for a 100 meter kick, I aimed my kick-board dutifully toward the opposite end of the pool and set off with a mighty push from the wall. Momentum is underrated when you’ve an entire pool ahead of you and a kick like mine.

Now, I’d like to say that today I surprised myself with my torpedo-like speed, but I did not. No, I was much more like the Little Engine That Could. In fact, at times it was only the changing colors on the lane rope that convinced me I was moving at all.

Four navy, three black. Four navy, three black. Four, three. Four. Three.

Isn’t that how days feel sometimes? Like we’re kicking and kicking and going nowhere? Funny how something as simple as a friendly lane rope — which really is going nowhere — can reassure us that we’re actually making forward progress. And that, in the end, is all we really need to know.

….kick on, my friends. Before we know it, we’ll be there.

Seasons Past, Seasons Passed

Back to school shopping
cool weather,
shorter days,
acorns plop,
tinted leaves crunch under my feet.
yellow. orange.
red and brown.

 

Christmas shopping
bundle up,
day gives way,
a dusting of white,
hollow, whistling wind stings my face.
black. white.
gray.

 

Easter shopping
warm sunshine,
moist buds,
dampened earth encourages its blooms
merry pitches delight my ear.
pink. purple.
golden and lilac.

 

Travel shopping
blistering heat,
day, please stay,
humming cicadas welcome bright butterflies,
warm sprinklers douse my sneakers.
green. green. brown.

Come, go, come, go.
Regular as the tide,
as the sun, as the moon, as the stars.

I am
not a season,
not a regular,
not fixed in the universe.

I come
with empty hands,
with full heart,
with agile mind in slowing body.

It is
the me that changes
against the glory of days,
of season’s greetings and departures,
of life gone on
in neighboring houses.

I am
here, as ever have been.
what day?
what weather?
what smell, what sound,
what touch?

Does anyone know?