Lake Swimming: poetry under prose

I step on to the cold pebbles with my bare feet and walk to the edge of the lake. It is six o'clock in the morning and vapor is escaping the lake creating a mysteries white mist two feet above the water. I prepare to dive in. It's cold, but I know that water in warmer then the air. I breath deep preparing myself to swim across the lake. Two eagles stare down at me from the old gnarled tree above. I move my arms in full circles and dive in. The water is fifty-two degrees, so I start moving fast to warm up. My face and head are chilled. I soon catch my cadence as my hands catch the water. The lake is like a glass, perfectly smooth and cold. I imagine my body breaking the surface tension of the lake and my wake that can be seen from the trail above. Then I think about swimming and everything else disappears like the mysteries mist. I pull my hand out at my hip relaxed and elbow bent. Water drips off my finger tips making small ripples near my head. While my hand is suspend in the air I turn my body and head to take a breath. Just the corner of my mouth escapes the lake. As one eye looks at the mountain tops to catch my bearings to stay on track. Just as quick my head enters the water as my hand  gently glides in front of my body and grips the water like a paddle. I began to pull and my body glides over my hand, as my feet kick to a six beat cadence creating small swirls of water and bubbles behind me. I glance up in the middle of the lake, alone in absolute peace mixed with the challenge of reaching the other side and coming back again. Time escapes and water runs through my fingers and my teeth until I reach the shore. I look up and see the two eagles still watching me.