Sunday, 15 December 2013

I haven't been swimming regularly for the last few days due to other commitments and an error on my alarm system (he pressed the wrong button apparently) so this seemed an opportune moment for a slightly unusual post. A friend wrote this short story recently and has allowed me to post it here. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. 

Wild swimming

Standing on the beach Ellen watched the sun drag itself up to perch on the

horizon and allowed herself one shiver. 

Underneath her feet the gravel twitched as she walked down to where the water

creaked the beach. Letting the sea flirt with her she walked into the breaks,
each third wave leaving the taste of a thousand miles on her skin. 

She dipped her head, then pushed under the surface, letting the tide turn and spin her and press her away from land. Once far enough that the distant cliffs became a sketch she reached into her costume for the small pouch of dried plant material.

Skulling on the waves she crushed bladderwrack, sphagnum moss and burnt heather together, rubbing the powder into her neck. Vertical slits opened up in her skin, pulsing with the ebb and flow of her breath.

With a kick she flipped over and pressed down through the mountain of water, the song of the blind and gilled women getting stronger, lungs shrinking to nothing like the far forgotten coast and the feel of concrete under her feet.

More of Steve's work can be found here:     

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