Skinny Dip

When I was a junior in undergrad, I spent the summer living on the edge of Biltmore Forest, in a little run-down house where my Bulgarian friend and his now-famous authoress wife lived. They were spending the summer gong to Bulgaria and dealing with US immigration agents (Are you married? Yes! Really? Yes!) while I took care of their dog and made terrible pesto while listening to Sonic Youth really loud.

That summer, I also found myself tagging along as friends sought out some of the best swimming holes around here. These pools had wholly uncreative names from what I remember: Whale Rock and Skinny Dip, for starters. This photo is from a hike Pat and I went on to Skinny Dip just a few days ago, where the withered ferns grew gold in the afternoon light. I always wonder where the red fern grows (wow. funny!).

I didn’t want to go on a walk in the woods, to be honest. Some days I can’t stand the quiet. But then I go and walk and dodge the tree roots growing over the path and slip on rocks and find myself on this footbridge over one of the pools. It’s a bridge with only one railing, the other side open to the water sloshing over the rocks. It’s not deep or tall, really, but I still felt a little dizzy, disoriented, bewildered looking into the water. It’s beautiful there. The water is cold, even in the heat of the summer. And there I found this little leaf, almost off the edge, and I knew what it meant.