I was slow about it. First I took off my boots and set them aside. Then my woolen socks whose bands I rolled over once. Then my long, white shirt which caught up my long hair as it came off slowly. Finally my pants which were tied once round my waist with twine. My underwear I let fall.

The river was colder than I had imagined and I shivered in anticipation. My abdomen would clench, as would my loins, though neither would get wet.

The water was not deep, only a few feet to the bottom, and murky. As I walked along clumsily, then lightly, then naively over silk and pebble, the sun shone around and through me and the trees leaned their fingertips riverward. The more I walked into the unknown, the more I awoke, unknowing.

In my riverdance, I found breath and hearing ears and the first day, for I was lungs and sound.