There are three swimming pools at Buttonwood Bay. Each of them is within walking distance of one another and nearby each of the residents (though obviously of varying proximity). The pool closest to us for example is less than 100 yards away. The others; namely, the Central pool by the front gate and the Island pool are nearby and easily accessible by me on my tricycle.
What primarily differentiates the three pools which all look identical (steps and handrail and ladder in the deep end) except for the surrounding vegetation and NS/EW positioning is the current occupation; that is, the number of people, children or adults, availability of chaises longues and deck chairs, space in the sun, shade or under the pergola.
The convenient attribute of children is that their voices can be heard from afar. Indeed as I was prolonged on a chaise longue by the Island pool today I heard the spirited ejaculations of youngsters on the opposite side of the marine inlet from nearby tennis Court 4 which is closest our townhouse. I trust you see my point. I think you catch my drift.
I had in fact heard the echoes of these young voices when I first began my mid-day tricycle about the neighbourhood. Merely to satisfy my curiosity I rolled my Sun tricycle across the limestone gravel and coral reef chips to inspect who was at the pool. Without having to misdirect my focus to the front of my tricycle I again heard the boisterous proclamations of children. Their presence is however as mercurial as their screams; that is, they were soon departed (though not before I had claimed a chaise longue at the empty Island pool).
Some time after my arrival at the vacant Island pool, two others (who happen also to be Canadians – from Windsor, Ontario) secured chaises longues by the pool. The chap’s Italian heritage gusto (displayed with uncommon vigour upon his arrival a month or two ago when his skin was then still white) was now markedly subdued as he contemplated his evaporation from this Paradise of Indolence and Sunshine within the next four days. We were the only ones by the pool, a burnished and dedicated lot but nonetheless somewhat mournful. Scraps of dried brown Buttonwood Bay bush leaves scurried over the cement squares by the pool, redolent of the looming fresh new growth.
I arose from my chaise longue to have a swim in the pool. My spirit moved me to go to the sea for another swim. As I tricycled past the Central pool I again overheard the voices of children so I didn’t bother to investigate further. My ambition was the sea.
When I arrived there and began to claim my seat on the edge of the picnic table bench I unceremoniously fell upon the sandy beach. What made the event more mortifying was that I couldn’t get up. I am unaccustomed to be on the ground. It took the application of engineering to discover how to resurrect myself, basically in the crawl position, then pushing myself upward with my arms. Not at all dignified! Especially covered as I was by then in beach sand on my wet bathing suit. Of course a couple came running to my rescue, asking hurriedly whether I were Okay. I would have said yes even if I were not. Meanwhile I was aware of something about me clamouring, what I thought at first was my iPhone. It was my Apple Watch asking how I was, whether I had fallen, did I need help?
I couldn’t get undressed and into the sea fast enough to escape this kerfuffle and sand! The swim in the sea was worth the trouble. Absolute bliss! My gold rings sparkled in the greenish underwater above the white sand. Floating on my back effortlessly, staring at the plain blue sky and the dazzling sun. Salty syrup on my lips. Underwater columns of cool water. In the distance boats were moored, music playing, people laughing. I smelled barbecue and exotic suntan lotion.