The Well

From Snow and Summer, 1975,
by Solveig von Schoultz

Early in the morning I go to my well
sometimes so early that the pail fills with stars
sometimes in the night I go to my well
lift high the handle,
lower the pail
down into invisible blackness
down into unseen coolness.
The well is deep.
Each morning I've time to fear
that the water has sunk down into misty darkness,
and the chain will be swallowed by thirsty walls,
throat go dry,
heart shrink

pail hit bottom.

Cool Water

Today I ventured into the small, kidney-shaped pool in the patio. Coolness surrounded me, under a bright sun. I love to watch the shadows of ripples moving on the green-blue pool bottom. I move slowly, stretching, walking, swirling, finally floating. I feel so secure when water holds me up, cool on my skin while the sun is warm on my face.

Of course, it is lovely to float at the shore, far more dynamic, sometimes getting an unwelcome splash of salty wavelet up my nose. Noisier, too. Exciting.

I've just finished reading The Education of Harriet Hatfield, by May Sarton. A 60 year old woman opens a bookstore and learns a lot about herself and other people. When the story ended, I felt cool and secure, as I did in the pool. New life can arise out of familiar elements.