The Last of Summer

The final days of summer have been hot, a mixture of sticky skin and scorched, already dying leaves. It gives the opportunity for swims in lakes that have begun their autumn chill without a reluctance to emerge and expose damp, dimpled skin to the wind. I swam the Serpentine at the end of the day, feeling overhot, overtired and underhappy, my mind on water. Walked to the park, through crowds milling Exhibition Road, squinting in the sun after a day in temperature and light controlled rooms. Through the grass, where the crunch of leaves underfoot flushed squirrels and wood pigeons from beneath trees. The light turned swarms of gnats to shimmer. There were no clouds.

It seems that the summer has offered too little of this, London outside has mirrored me, with dark often outweighing light, though there’s been sunshine too. It seems strange that the heat of the day made me melancholic and needing to swim. Perhaps it’s natural, just the last days of summer.

So, I reached the lake, passed bikinis that never meet water and kids in sunhats with ice creamed faces. Saw my first swan of the day, idling, unmoved by the exertion of nearby oarsmen. It was busy on the bankside but only one other swims. I changed quickly and entered the water. Colder than I expected but as the chill envelopes me I feel it’s customary relief, the coolness leach into my busy head. So I swim, arms stretch out, cleave through dark waters and the already dead of this year’s summer. Swim towards that which makes me sad, but through what’s become my solution.