Week #1 - Calisthenics

This is an expansion-contraction exercise. The text has been partially edited from the original freewrite. I plan to contract it from its current narrative status into a more concise reading. Eventually, I will give it a title and some kind of form.

White Styrofoam hand-buoys pump like silent popcorn above the buttery, blue water of the natatorium. Bare-breasted Diana, the huntress in effigy, aims her poised arrow at oak trees which tower above the lattice tops of a white fence just beyond glass walls —dormant limbs veining a vapid sky. Their complex weave wends spaces only lofty creatures can navigate. The intricate patterns encourage endless imaginings. Our leader interrupts the badinage: “10—9—8—7—pump—3—2—1—and soccerball kicks!” I check the clock on the wall and turn to gaze at the trees, my legs flicking á tempo. I am seduced into silence. Lured by a bare limb stenciled onto a cloudy slate, I walk along its rough, round slenderness. It quickly narrows so I float over to a larger one and feel an earned strength underfoot. It undulates to my soles’ caresses. Airborn, alive, I meld into the maze. Cool breezes shoot a quiver through my trunk. I leap, Tarzan-like, to grasp a still stronger limb and dangle daringly in the void. I graze on the air and nest into the sky, held aloft by the strong, firm muscles of the trees. This is who I am—not that quark sloshing around in muted muliebrity. In some long-ago forest, I must have chosen to crawl.