SPLASHING OUT

Despite living minutes from the sea, I remain a reluctant swimmer and am regularly put to shame by my wife, Jane, who is an intrepid bather untroubled by cold water.
I blame those Northern Irish seaside summers during my childhood when I was urged to brave the icy Atlantic breakers at Portstewart. Even the gritty paste sandwiches and lemonade afterwards couldn't compensate for that ordeal. 
I wrote this poem in August after watching Jane, in mermaid mode, frolicking in sky-blue water at Chouet beach. 

SPLASH

It’s a shock at first,
braving the water, wading out.
Beneath her feet, pebbles
jab at white, splayed toes,
as rising cold, chills knees,
soaks timid thighs and crotch.
Then, breath indrawn,
half stumble or half plunge,
she launches out.

To be immersed is not as bad
as hesitating,
shivering ...
so when the buoyant water
bears her up,
she’s laughing,
sunlight
falling like a blessing
on her upturned face.