"A Feather Floats on Phelps Lake..."

July 16th

We went to the Rockefeller Nature Preserve again this morning. This time, we went romping in the woodlands with a volunteer guide and several other people. I drank in the beauty surrounding me like a thirsty desert wanderer. A mountain stream was ever close by, tumbling over rocks with a chorus of joyful sound and glistening foam. We meandered through tranquil forests of stately pine trees draped with moss and sun-dappled meadows of vibrant wildflowers. The trail led to Phelps Lake.

The lake lay in perfect serenity, mirroring the mountains in its crystal waters. The clear water beckoned, so I took off my shoes. As I dipped my feet into the water, it quivered slightly at my touch. I waded further, and the perfect outlines of the rocks beneath my feet were distorted by undulating ripples. My legs tingled in the cool water. I saw a small, sun-drenched boulder at a distance from the shore and longed to climb atop it…just because it was there. I waded toward it, but submerged, slippery stones were agony for my tender feet. I stopped for a moment, gazing at the unattainable boulder, wishing that I could swim to it. Then, I had an epiphany: absolutely nothing was preventing me from swimming to it except myself! Before anyone could protest, I slipped down into the water, fully clothed. It enveloped me with invigorating coolness, and I began to swim. The stones hurt me no longer—I glided over them effortlessly. I reached the unreachable boulder and pulled myself on top of it. I sat there grinning with triumph, while everyone else on shore shook their heads at my craziness. It was such an easy thing to do…I didn’t think that it was crazy; merely contrary to an inessential convention. The unconventional is always considered crazy, the crazy always think themselves conventional. Which is it?

All too soon, I had to swim back to shore. Hiking back down the trail, I tried to maintain the most dignity one can muster when one looks like a shivering, half-drowned rat. Dust clung to my wet skin, but I rinsed it all off in a waterfall near the end of the trail. I sat in the sun to dry, so soon there was no outward trace of my marvelous adventure except a mischievous twinkle of freedom in the eye that comes from doing the unconventional and getting away with it.