I was right. Freed of gravity in the pool, every bone and joint, every muscle, even my arthritic little finger, stopped hurting. To my mind, if heaven existed it would have to be nothing more than a surcease from pain. And perhaps a pile of good books. The pile would not have to be all that big. My memory is so poor I can’t remember all the details of the best literature I’ve read, and I love rereading and rediscovering.

It’s like returning to a forgotten favourite place, finding it completely unchanged, yet observing things about it you know were there, but you never really noticed before.

I have just received in the mail the latest posthumously published complete volume of Ursula K Le Guin’s Earthsea collection. The novel that became a trilogy then five, then six novels plus more short stories. I have written before that this work, along with Tolkien’s Hobbit tales, contains, in my opinion, all one needs to know about being a decent human being, without the crappy trappings and hypocrisy of religion.

This is the third time I’ve bought the Earthsea volumes, but the first time I finally collected them all in one.

But I digress. I spent a full three hours in the pool today, despite the rain, and despite the water being the coolest I have experienced since I started swimming there. I was not swimming the whole time. Over an hour was spent leaning on a lane marker in conversation with two delightful people on a wide range of subjects from travel to racism and fish and chips and depression and exercise. I hope I meet them both again.

Returning to gravity was as unpleasant as always. I could hardly climb into the car. A quick trip to Aldi turned into an exhausting trek, and I’m buggered. In fact, it is now mid afternoon and I think I may have a late lunch of slow cooked vegetable soup and spend the rest of the day in bed with Ursula.

Author: Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

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