Joy in the beck

I've dug up an old poem that maybe says something about the joy of wild swimming, although it's about other stuff too!

Joy in the beck                            

                Over tough rock and through soft earth

                                the river creates her own course

as she runs and rests by turns

                                                from her tiny bubbling source.

                Where the pool of ideas whirls

we are suspended in her being

                                feeling only the bliss of the swim,

                we twist and spin without seeing.

Know the thrill of the stream in flood

 --  deep, dark and endless.

                                Hold faith in her safety as

she falls and bends,  grows careless.

Feel the water-silk embrace,

                                the power of the raging torrent

                                                The river is the breath we seek

as we run in the race of the current.

                                To dive, to swim

                                                to dance in her flow

                 is to trust all the dreams

                                                                we ever seek to know.