Slow sinking grace

As a girl in Hot Springs, Arkansas, I found myself wading in Lake Hamilton—not exactly swimming, since I never really mastered the art of water ballet. Instead, I was a sixyear-old with two left feet and lacked swimming skills.

The bottom of the lake was muddy, slimy, and like quicksand; at least that’s exactly what it felt like to me.

I was blissfully unaware of what would come until a raggedy little boy, perhaps my future stunt double, entered my watery world.