ode to an ovaArmer
Artwork credit: Fran Lynch. Once upon a time, I found myself settling into a new town; a small Australian country community by the Pacific Ocean. Fledgling connections with kind people had me walking the break-wall at sunrise, pretending to like early mornings in order to forge a friendship. From my vantage on the pathway, I observed a group of swimmers lapping the shoreline, two kids playing and strolling the sand as they tracked them. There, I thought to myself, must be a Mum amongst those swimmers. And how incredibly rad that her kids came along while she got to have a swim. That’s my kind of group, I mused. There’s nothing like a Mum who somewhat neglects her children to pursue her own bliss, to float my boat. Through a bit of sleuthing I learned of their weekly meeting time and location, and vicariously observed them swimming the length of our local beach whatever the weather. It was winter by the time I mustered my scant courage to join them one chill Saturday morning. Just a
