When I was 21, in the mountains here in Appalachia, there was a small pond in the woods that we had hiked to. I decided to go night swimming alone with two other friends. 

The water was dark, murky, and warm. We felt like embryos with the moonlight pouring down. Skinny dipping with freeing thoughts, our skin was exposed and bathed in moss, lily pads, and mud. Frogs croaking, crickets singing, and other nighttime sounds filled the air.

The scent of murky water, mud, and fresh earth, along with floral scents. I felt as if I had been reborn into a different time, while also reconnecting with my embryonic state—all within the peaceful, beautiful pond, a nurturing being of water that gently held us as we floated and moved our arms. This pond was living and breathing, and we felt truly alive through our laughter and innocence. I recall quietly singing in the water and having my toes immersed in murky mud, while fish occasionally nipped at my feet and legs, causing squeals of excitement and fear simultaneously, as I couldn’t see what was hidden beneath the dark water. 

I also remember the moonlight shimmering on the pond’s surface, barely revealing my friends swimming nearby.

-Elisa

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