Water -- recaptured from elsewhere.

Among my happiest of recollections is, strangely, a test I took in college. I came to college a non-swimmer, bewitched by the grace water lent but unwilling to trust it fully. By the end of that semester, I had learned the basic strokes, but I had one more hurdle to face... I had never learned to simply tread water.

My coach, Mr Teale, was a wonderful, understanding man. He took me aside, and explained that he didn't feel comfortable giving me a passing grade, despite my test scores, unless I mastered something as vital to my safety as treading water. Therefore, my final exam was to spend two hours in the diving well, by myself. He would be on hand, or our teacher's aide, an older student I had come to know slightly and to trust somewhat, would be. But if I left the diving well, or needed to be rescued, I would fail the class.

The morning of the test dawned cold, and clear, the way Florida mornings sometimes do. I could see the steam hanging over the slightly heated diving well as I walked into the pool area alone, from the changing rooms, and laid my towel down beside my usual lane. Coach Teale didn't make me wait long. He came out of his office two minutes after I exited the changing room, and smiled at me. "You can do this," he said. "You've got the hard things done. All you have to do is relax, and you'll be just fine. Concentrate on your breathing." And then he blew his whistle, and changed into the authoritative person I'd learned to obey explicitly. "Dive in from the side of the diving well. test begins... NOW!" I obeyed.

The water closed over my head, familiar and warm, and I touched bottom and pushed my way up to the top, showing off just a little. I arrived at the surface only slightly out of breath, and smiled at him. He shook his head, and started the timer. I then began to endure the longest fifteen minutes I've ever been through.

I bobbed, sculled, and floated in turn, watching the clock intently. And I got tired... very tired. Panic began to set in, and I fought it off, until I remembered what Coach had said. "Concentrate on your breathing." I slowed my breathing to just under normal, and felt myself calm, my movements slow in response. A melody I had sung often and loved dearly began to play in my mind, and I relaxed still further. Detachment began to set in. I was in the water, cradled and supported and surrounded, but I was also outside myself in my mind, observing. The next time I glanced at the timer, 45 minutes had passed. I was halfway through the test, and Coach was sitting beside the pool, grading exams from one of his other classes, and watching me, too. I smiled at him, and went back to the music.

The next time I looked up, he was gone, and Sion was standing in his place, toying with the shepherd's crook. I laughed. "You're not going to need that today," I told him. He shrugged, laughing, and went to sit on the lower diving board, feet almost touching the water. The sun was still in the east, and he was gilded, hair bleached blond over the summer by chlorine and sunlight glowing gold. I caught my breath, and went back inside my mind, and the rest of the exam passed in a blur of rocking water, that haunting, achingly beautiful melody, the feel of sunlight, and a feeling of utter peace I have seldom been able to recapture.