Of lions

"What would you do," he asks, "if someone were to push you in?"

"I guess I'd swim out," I say with a shrug.

The girl on his arm giggles as the two drift away across the rough seawall. He says something about Just Kidding. I stare back out into the bay.

I'd been thinking about just that: What it would be like to jump into the water, airy skirt drifting like seaweed. Swim through the 'No Wake Zone', past the drifting boats. Make it out into open water, strokes sure, legs heavy, body charged, soul asunder.

I lay back across the aged coquina shells, eyes skyward, legs dangling feet from the water below, sun bare and fading. Inhale this strange life, at once insular and public, alone and spoken for.

Sunday evening and we all have our roles to play, some more meaningful, some more solitary than others. Sometimes I'm not sure what mine is. The troubled writer seems appropriate for now.

From the deepest struggle comes the strongest words.