The River Heraclitus

This is an image post. Inspiration for this sketch came from this image.

Sunday afternoon and her half-day off. She puts the dinner in the oven and slips out through the service door, plunges into the crowd and fleet-foots her way down to the river. In the sunlight her hair streams behind her a banner. The crowds that press against her are mighty varied, mighty varied: families in their church best, young sharpers out idling, flaneurs making spectacles of themselves, kids who’ve slipped the net, servants.

Down at the water, and it’s Evangeline, honey! Hey baby! Come on in with us! How you doin kid? In and out of the changing booth, whistles whistles for her bare arms and then poomp into the water, eyes tight clamped and mouth snapped shut against the foulness but what a joy to move so. They roughhouse, they horse around, they gas each other, and in the distance sharp needy carnival music and shrieks for the roller coaster.

She climbs out and dives and dives and climbs out and shakes her hair back, lolls in the sun, so close to freedom. Anything could happen. She could run away and do, well, and do anything. What could be is a river she hangs above, arms clasped over her head, ready to dive.