My Breaststroking Angel

I wrote this on the plane home from Tahoe three months ago:
When my wife visits Lake Tahoe each year, she always looks forward to her morning swims. She will usually be the second person to wake up each morning (no one wakes up earlier than my mother-in-law), and will head down to the lake and go through a little ritual. First she will lay out on the pier and get warmed up by the sun. (We make fun of her mom for her insanely early morning meditations, but Elisa’s practice is hardly dissimilar.) After she feels sufficiently warm, she will head down the steps to the edge of the water and stop. At this point she is getting herself psyched up to jump in, because once she does, her heart will explode because the water is so cold. Once she finally acts on this insanity and jumps in, she will slowly swim out to some buoys and back. It is at this point when she becomes my breaststroking angel. To set the scene, you must understand that our cabin is on the west side of the lake, so the sun rises directly in our faces as we look out at the water. In the early morning, 99% of the time, the lake is calm and still and looks like you could walk on it. If there are any ripples in the water, the sun reflects off of them in a brilliant sparkling show. So, as Elisa swims out, she makes a small wake of her own. But the thing is, if she swims out at just the right time and the sun is hitting the water at just the right angle, she leaves a wake of light so bright you can’t even see her. Only occasionally can you notice a small bobbing head emerging from the water in short bursts. But the wake… that wake… it is like the entire lake and the whole sun are working in harmony with her every move, that she is at one with Tahoe. And I suppose that’s what she wants to happen. No wonder she loves her morning swims.