BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

Neoprened hands find their rhythm; lungs struggle for breath; we slowly break the surface. Silence characterises these winter swims, breathing draws our focus, navigating the ice. Still the rams graze, their curled horns like extravagant Princess Leia copies.

They have no time for us and continue their progress. This water has become a ritual, one of few permissible now. Water, baptism, renewal – many resonances here.

We’ve become a community of shared experiences as we swim through weed-braided waters. At times, chilled sea-urchin water needles the skin and we are lobster tanned as we emerge. Two full moons, six months apart, but the same dark depths.