The Riddle of Waters

At seventy-eight, I've learned that life's most precious moments often arrive unannounced. This morning found me at the community center, moving gently through the warm pool during my water aerobics class. The swimming has become my refuge since Arthur passed—something about the water cradling my arthritic joints makes the grief more bearable.

Buster, my golden retriever, waited faithfully on the pool deck, his gray muzzle resting on his paws. He's been my constant companion through the lonely days, though I admit his fur now matches my own white hair more than it matches the golden coat of his youth.

After class, my friend Margaret joined me at our usual table by the window. We've known each other since our children started kindergarten together, sharing five decades of joy and heartache. She pulled out her crossword puzzle, as she does every Tuesday.

"Nine letters—a mythical creature with riddles," she read aloud, tapping her pen thoughtfully.

"The Sphinx," I answered without hesitation. "Remember when your grandson was obsessed with Egyptian mythology?"

Margaret's laugh crinkled the corners of her eyes. "I do. He made me dress up as Cleopatra for his birthday party. My hair looked like a bird's nest." We both chuckled, the comfortable laughter of old friends who've weathered life's storms together.

As we sipped our tea, I watched a young mother teaching her toddler to float in the shallow end. The child's face showed pure terror mixed with determination, her small fingers white-knuckled around her mother's hands.

"That was you, wasn't it?" Margaret said softly. "The summer you learned to swim in Lake Michigan?"

I nodded. "Grandpa held my hands, just like that. He said the secret was to trust the water to hold you up. That lesson has carried me through seventy years."

"The Sphinx would approve," Margaret mused. "All those riddles about who walks on four legs, then two, then three. We're in the three-legged stage now, aren't we? Canes and all."

I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Maybe. But I think the real riddle isn't how we walk. It's how we keep swimming through everything life throws at us—loss, loneliness, aging—and still find moments like this, warm and wonderful."

Buster thumped his tail in agreement. Some truths don't need words at all.