where did THAT body come from?

It felt a bit like parole, my son's driving me -- just for the hell of it -- to a local swimming hole now shut down as winter approaches ... just to get out and see some water taking its slow-motion time, doing whatever it is doing. "Outside" is such a good idea in my book and my son was patient as I enjoyed the sunshine, the shimmering, darting minnows, the reflections ... and all of it away from the protective and bleakly-concerned confines of the house. Parole.

The light was fresh. The air was light and tonight the first frost is predicted.

We stopped at the swimming hole; I barefooted in the shallows; my son took pictures I was unaware of (where did that body come from?) and then we went on to the golf driving range where my son's power and youth and capacity stood in stark contrast to wherever this "that body" came from.

And it made me wonder about my son: Where did that body come from?

It wasn't a deep or philosophical or spiritual thought: The sun was too bright and the air too sweet for that sort of nonsense. I didn't begrudge the passage of time any more than I begrudged the passage of the flowing water. It was just  something to notice ... a greyed and wrinkly bag of bones and a full-throated, smoothly-muscled, knock-it-for-a-loop frame of reference ... a two-fer situation addressed by the same easy-going, no-need-to-answer-it question: Where did that body come from?

It was all as curious, somehow, as it was obvious.

A lovely day.