Beneath the non-existent waves

Feeling drained
Deerfield Beach, FL
December 2014
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I remember when I was a lifeguard, I'd often walk around the edge of the outdoor pool before we opened in the morning. The surface of the water was incredibly still, undisturbed before the sun cleared the tall trees behind the deep end and the day's winds began to blow, undisturbed by the legions of kids who would soon fill the place for morning swim instruction, and the families who would spend lazy, hot summer afternoons here, as well.

It was a quiet, resonant place to be, and walking the perimeter gave me a chance to catch my breath before the day became a constant blur of activity. It amazed me how this semi-Olympic-sized pool set within a large stretch of lawn and trees with nary a house in sight could be both perfectly reserved and incredibly vibrant, all within a few brief minutes.

Sometimes at the end of the day, I'd latch the gate behind the final departing guests and then, as my team and I buttoned up the pool, steal similar glances into the water as the surface settled down for the night. For some reason, I felt I needed to drink in those transitional times of day. Still do.

So after we arrived in Florida for our vacation with the kids and settled in, a quick pre-bedtime peek straight down into the empty pool seemed like a nice way to bridge my own teen years with those of my children. They obliged me my moment of resonance before jumping into the deep end and turning the scene into one of motion and vibrancy. New generation, new waves. Some things, happily, never change.

Your turn: How do you mark the transitions between different times of day?

Note: This photo was originally posted on Flickr here. My Flickr stream can be found here.