Progymnasmata

It's fall here in the north country. My maples, sumacs, oaks, barberries, hornbeams, paper birches, & co are wearing their colors. And the pines are shedding last year's needles. Some of these old needles are falling on my storage shed, which sits beneath them. There's chill in the air. And I remember how much I love the cold -- the hard breath of a frosted morning, the numbing of cool water on my hands.

This chill and turn of season reminds me of early spring and one of my favorite things to do then.

Each morning I drive by a nearby lake that has a remote swimming beach near it. As the temperature rises, I watch the ebbing of the ice retreat back and into the lake. I wait for my turn to swim.

Once the ice goes out, I make a trip to the lake (my wife and daughters think I'm crazy but they can't resist the spectacle I create) to run like an enraged bull into the ice-cold water.

The water numbs the skin like death. But the smell of the fresh, clear, freezing water is the essence of life itself: sharp, powerful, thrilling. And, quickly, overwhelming. . . .it is too much, too strong, and I run out -- red-skined & goose-fleshed -- to the waiting towel.

Why this? Because I love to be reminded by experience that the best things in life are crazy, yet clean; quick, yet memorable; and above all else I need to be reminded that sometimes we need to put ourselves into uncomfortable situations if only for the thrill of finding our way out.