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Show CHRYSALIS pAGE 161 too cold. He lies on a wide, warm rock to dry out like a lizard in the sun. Wild blackberries grow all along the river's edge. The water sparkles. I throw little rocks into the water and the circles of ripples widen and run together. I step off the bank and wade out until the cold water is up to my knees. Little silver shivers dance like ripples up my backbone. Mother calls me to come back. I turn toward the shore and step off into a deep hole. The cold water closes over my head. Water is in my eyes, in my nose, in my mouth and ears. The water-weeds cover me, tangling my legs, pulling me down. I can't see or breathe or think. I can't call out. I can only sputter and cough and flail my arms helplessly. My big brother comes in after me. I gasp and cling to his neck. When we are safely back on shore, he says, "If you'd a been in the air instead of in the water, you'd a been flying!" A list of things I'd like to do before I die. 1. Fly. Something at least possible - maybe hang-glide. 2. Ski. 3. Travel in a hot-air balloon. |