Swimming pool painting by Laura Eades

Swimming pool in Tuscany. Double relaxation – swim, then draw the swimming pool while you dry off Image: © Laura Eades

I love swimming. It’s heaven. Up and down with the breath, the rhythm. Up. Under. Moving through something. Slow skimming. Or ripping, tearing. I love it all.

When I swim, I think: Oh! This is what I was put on Earth for! To do this! Of course!

Liminal. Cruising like a crocodile. Mouth just below the surface. In two worlds at once. The feeling of the surface on my top lip.

Swimming naked. Swimming with the dragonflies. Swallows and martins doing a firework aerial display at dusk, picking the insects out of the air, touching the surface.

Swimming in an evening dress. Swimming in seaweed.

Basking in the Baltic like an otter – you could read a paper.

Ploughing out a length, inside your own rhythm, in there, with the breath. The echo of a municipal pool. The energy of it.

Swimming with goggles. In an outdoor pool, admiring the suspension of the detritus. After high winds – all the sticks and pinecones and leaves in there. Prickly pine sticks on the bottom look like scary urchins.

The cold of the sea, or of Brockwell Lido. The morphine glow that hits you after half a length.

Brainfreeze in British sea. Getting slammed, violated by a wave. Defibrillated; shocked into being.

Swim. Schwimm. Swoon. Swan. Zoom. Whim. Spin. Slam. Slim. SSSsss. Sssswww. Haaa. Heeee. Hmmmm. Ih. Ih. Mmmmm.

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• Where is the best place to swim? What should you be wearing? What’s your most memorable swimming experience? What swimming poetry and lyrics do you know? All input welcome in the comment thread below