Hot sun

A spot of Genesis

"Cause, I can't dance, I can't talk.
Only thing about me is the way I walk"

And it continues to rain.  Which isn't actually news, but it reflects a teeny bit of frustration.  My climbing plans are a little puddle shaped at the moment.  And I'm thinking tonight should be Rivington and it will be wet and muddy and I'm thinking fairly joyous.  Or maybe it'll be Winter Hill.  Lights and snorkel job.  Because the thought of a bike ride is keeping me sane today behind my desk.

It was a whole bunch of weird contemplating the thought that there could be life after London.  Since Beijing was put behind us, the world has been all about the London Olympic Games.  Planners all end in September 2012, there's been an eerie emptiness beyond London.  And indeed, we've veered away from thinking about it because that means something.  It means that one day the Games will be upon us, and that day will be remarkably soon.  Now I personally, me, not work, have post London plans the giddiness comes and goes.  Sometimes it's excitement, sometimes it's a fear of the unknown and sometimes it's a reckless dive.  I'm not good at picturing the future. I actually don't want to. I want to be surprised by it.  Maybe I would be good at it if I wanted to be, but I'm open to surprise.  It needs to be unpredictable.  Unexpected even.

When a visual image of it comes unprompted into my head, it's something along the lines of wild swimming.  To me the future looks like a rocky outcrop, a shady grove.  I'm standing on a grassy bank looking into this vast cold but not threatening pool. It looks deep, it looks still, it's dark but it's really really inviting.  The opposite side is a sheer vertical climb of granite, with ferns protruding from some of the ledges and cracks.  And the rock is dry and could be warm to the touch even though there's dappled shade from above.  There's greenery.  In this picture of how the future looks, I jump into the pool.  Not just a toe tentatively prodding the water, testing it for temperature, but a whole body glorious leap.  I can picture the splash in slow motion, huge shining droplets of water flying into the air in a vast arc.  Short lived, and the feet first plunge of me into the pool is not a belly flop, it's a spear zooming into the pool.  And the water surrounds me, and as my head plummets beneath the water I can see everything in silver in that moment before I naturally surface.  And then I'm there, in the pool, slightly stunned by the cold but in no danger, and I'm alive, I'm really alive.  And completely alone and complete.