Two waters

I went swimming in the rain at Pinewoods, in the pond behind our cabin. adfamiliares laughed at me, and told me (quite rightly) not to take my towel out in the downpour, but the water was a warm and silky layer between the cold stings of the raindrops and the cold quarter-inch of black mud at the bottom. I floated close to the shore, alligator-me, hippopotamus-me, and lifted my snout to sniff the wet and dripping honeysuckle that overhung the scalloped bank. Tiny waterspouts rose from the pond's surface to meet the raindrops; tiny beads of water broke free and skittered across the surface tension like drops on a hot griddle. I flipped to lie naked on my back, arms outstretched, welcoming wet needles from above. Murmurous hush everywhere enclosing me, smiling.