Last night was one of those sultry August evenings where a bead of sweat pops out at the base of your spine within seconds after you’ve stepped out of the refrigerated air of the house.
But the cement pond, turning lavender, then blue, then white, then green, beckons, and before the bead of sweat has a chance to slide, I am in the pool, swimming a few laps at first, and then floating on my back.
Ten o’clock. Nighttime at Longleaf. The pool is in a clearing, surrounded by longleaf pine, live oak, blackjack and magnolia trees. No suburban light. The stars are bright.
A night bird’s song is clear. A jet plane overhead seems so close I wish the pilot safe passage.