Sun Worshipper

It was a winter of rain, day after day of grey skies, the clouds weeping. Clothes would never dry, mould crept into the corners of the house, I felt webs growing between my toes.

And then, POOF! the sun came out. I stared at the unfamiliar golden orb in awe. It became clear why ancient cultures worshipped this celestial sphere. The Egyptian Ra, the Greek Helios, the Celtic Lugh - I would have sacrificed a bottle of good red wine to any of these in thanks when I finally saw our solar system’s star.

Soon the earth began to warm and put forth bluebells. I started to shed layers. The day came when I put my thermal underwear in the loft and pulled out my shorts and summer dresses. Sun hats were rediscovered. Suncream unearthed from the back of the cupboard. Then it was time for the swim gear.

From behind the piano came my bag. I checked: goggles, changing mat, changing towel, booties, gloves, wetsuit, float. All there, ready and waiting. It would still be cold but I was ready to reacquaint myself with The Atlantic. There are wild swimmers that dip year-round – they are made of sterner stuff than I. Only when the light returned did I venture seaward. This made the first swim of the season a shocking affair. My throat squeezed shut, my head ached, my toes and fingers grew numb. But, how refreshing to finally wash the winter away and stroke towards summer.

After the first plunge, it got easier. I even managed the sunrise swim on the solstice (4.30 AM!) It was as full summer developed that the swims became moments of ecstasy - moving through the turquoise waters, turning over and floating on my back to view a cloudless, cerulean sky.

The days grew so hot that swimming almost became a necessity. Stepping into the sea, the invigorating water slapped me awake. I would swim out past the noise of the children playing in the surf and let the ripples of the ocean rock me. When I returned to the beach, I did not need to rush into dry clothes to avoid hypothermia. I could sit on my towel and relax my muscles in the baking heat, sometimes watching a seal frolicking in the waves. Walking home I needed only my shorts over my suit and flipflops on my feet. My dry coat never left its peg this summer; there was no need for that sort of insulation.

The days are waning now; the soft, mellow nights shorter. A breeze is coming from the north, reminding me that the earth is turning from its source of warmth. The sea is transitioning from tranquillity to its autumn feistiness. I need my wetsuit now and must change into a jacket and long trousers after my paddle. Soon, the last swim of the season will be upon me. I will find it chilling and frightening rather than vitalizing and welcoming. I will wash my gear, dry it and pack it away till next year. My season as a seal wannabe will be over and I will curl inside beside the radiator, dreaming of the sun.