No stamp necessary.
I floated on my back in a saltwater pool in my favorite Nordstrom dress. My friend Harvey and I had spent the afternoon at a friend’s house taking pictures for the album. The house and pool sat on the highest point of the property, a country estate in Davidson County with a long gravel driveway and landscaped gardens—265 miles east of the Great Dismal Swamp.
Golden hour was underway. Harvey sat atop a painter’s ladder we had set up in the shallow end of the pool. I slipped along under the A-frame ladder, trying to stay in frame. I looked up at Harvey, holding the camera, clicking away as I plunged under.
Coming up for air, floating there, I tried to quiet the cold quivers of a saltwater swim in early May. I thought about Moses Grandy. I thought about the swamp. I tried not to think about what my mom would think about me swimming in my favorite Nordstrom dress. And I thought about her—my lady of Lake Drummond, smoking cigars and setting off fireworks.
I took a picture of that moment in my mind and sent it back to myself, via virtual postcard. Sent it back to that girl with the overdue library books googling for water. I would have hung it on my fridge like a postcard from a friend with its joyful, jotted note, “Wish you here.” Adventures to come.
I took a breath, went under and thought, “Finally. Found a free place to swim.”
Download the album, “Postcards from the Swamp.”
See Monkeywhale’s photos from the CD release at Triad Stage.
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