He loved that pond. Everything about it. The dark greenish brown water that hid the soft mucky bottom. The smell of the leaves that would float by. How cool the water was in the summer when he'd run to the end of the dock and launch himself into the air, waiting for the salvation of the water to touch his skin.
It was one of his earliest memories. Hidden deep within his mind, locked away in a spot he was sure he'd never lose it. He knew what boards on the way to the waters edge would creak below him. Which to avoid in order to not get a splinter in the sole of his foot. He could still imagine sitting on the edge, dipping his toe in the water and feeding the local family of ducks that resided in the marsh on the other side.
Most of all though, it reminded him of his father. How he learned to swim with him - clinging onto the edge of the dock, treading water as hard as he could, only to be persuaded to swim out to his open arms, only a few short feet away from him. He knew it was going to happen, but he still would let go and begin the journey, only to see his father take one step after another, deeper into the pond, further from him as he got closer. He was always scared he wasn't going to make it. That he was going to become too tired and drift below the surface.
Yet somehow, just at the right moment, when he felt he couldn't make it any further, he'd feel the warmth of his father's arms as they wrapped around him.
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