Nereus, Homer’s old man of the sea, was said to have over fifty daughters. Collectively known as the Nereids, each daughter is attributed with a characteristic of the sea.
Monday: Oreithyia
You are raging this morning. Furious. You spit, shout and throw yourself against the world. I admire your lack of restraint. I’m a bit envious. I take small steps towards you. I get closer and look gingerly across the horizon. You hurl yourself again, the thud breaking into spattered, seeping entrails. I get it. You’re the boss. I dip a toe in your wash. You throw some water in my direction. I make my way into you. You chuck pebbles at my shins. I stand, waist deep, and look into your anger. You froth, pull, push, tear at the sky but let me stand. I dare to intrude a little further into your rage. You barge towards me, sweeping from all directions; the threat hits home as you crash over my head. I take a few steps back and stay put. Your anger swirls around me. I exhale into you, you take up my breath and it gains force as you rush it away. I am replenished. I turn and leave you. You push me away and pull me back by turns in your tantrum, but you let me walk away. Toe deep once more I look over my shoulder at the roaring horizon. I smile a small smile at your wild, unashamed ferocity.
Tuesday: Aktaia
You are low today. It is as if you want to have a duvet day, hide from the world, go offline. You present to me the sand. Miles of it. You seem to hope that the golden, soft expanse will distract like a precious jewel. Meanwhile you have pulled back, away from me, away from everyone. I walk towards you and you try to envelop yourself in a blanket of your own making, to disappear into you. My feet mark startled, exposed sand as I walk to reach you. You lap gently at my toes, as if tucking yourself in. I wade in and I walk and walk and still you are only up to my waist. I walk further than ever and find you tired to your core. You stroke my arms and nestle beneath my shoulders. We stand quietly. It seems rude to disturb your peace. In the end I do paddle about a bit. You rally a little, show willing. You gather a few bigger waves and send them in my direction. I am grateful and come to a stop and stand again. From your shallows I look out across the horizon that you form. You seem shy about your permanence. We rest together. I am replenished. Lean on me for once. Very gently I turn and trace my footprints, which still mark the sand, but only until you have gathered your strength and washed them away.
Wednesday: Galateia
You are playful this afternoon. I hear your giggle before I see you. Your laughter ripples towards me. You invite me to share the joke. You are tipsy, your waves like the concertina collar of a court jester. You froth like sparkling wine. You are so cordial that I almost forget my boundaries; I turn back for my hat and goggles: my social niceties as armour for our encounter. You tip your wine over my toes as I come closer and laugh it off. I ignore your tittering and walk into the centre of your party. You are fun drunk, just the right side of unpredictable as you fling more froth in my direction. The odd splash wets my cheek. I jump to your music, dance as you sway. I’m able to catch myself before you push me over, your rhythm entirely your own. I consider jumping further in, throwing caution to the wind and finding my stroke in yours. But you have that edge, as if you might tip into something the other side of fun. If I lift my legs and come with you you may just lose all sense of your own strength: lift me up, twirl me about and spit me out again, for a laugh. So I don’t overdo it. I make my excuses, turn and make my sober way to shore. You follow at my heels briefly, must I be mad for wanting this party to end? I gaze at your waves as you spill onto my toes. I am replenished. I take off my hat and goggles to see you properly and laugh with you.
Thursday: Protomedeia
You are new and high this morning. Intimidatingly high. You have pushed aside the land: rocks, logs and sand shifted. Anyone or anything in your way has been bulldozed or submerged. You have ended your boundary dispute with your neighbours, you win. I tiptoe on the narrow strip of land you have left me. I am off balance simply trying to look at you. I can’t stand far enough back to take you in. You are massive. I just stare into your unending blue. Under the darkest of dark skies you have emulsified the land, what a coup. My usual point of entry has disappeared, it will be straight in at the deep end today, or not at all. You dare me, you a huge iris that I can’t even trace the circumference of; me a speck that you could swallow or sweep aside as you chose. You out-stare me in an instant. I struggle to find a point, a detail, a spot I can fix upon to ground me. The rocks I usually swim around have disappeared, you have devoured them. Your absolute dominion is as impressive as it is scary. I enter. No easing in today. Arms out, legs kicking. It’s as if I am back in the little pool, a child battling with my armbands. I splash a lot. You are impervious. I dash into you and rush back out again. I stand on the strip you have allotted me. My breath is short. I trace your expanse again, you are unending. I stand up straight and meet you. I am replenished. You are magnificent. I nod to you and smile. You are quite something. And you know it.
Friday: Thaleia
You are radiant today. You postulate, catching the shimmer of an obedient sun. I am caught in admiration; you feign coyness. Mesmerised I walk towards you. Close up you lose nothing of your beauty. You are flawless, deep blue and rouged by rays of light. You undulate, grow and glow. I walk into your depths, possessed. I wade through your wonder. I am captured. When I am shoulder deep you carry me, roll me on your surface, let me shine by proxy. I lift my legs and you raise me, share your platform. I breathe you in. You allow me a moment to shine. I travel through you, only a brief blemish as you renew in my wake. You rock me as I move, and our rhythm pulls me deeper into you. I stop and look around. You surround me. I am wowed. We sway. Just me and you. You and me. I wish that I could stay. I make to take my leave. You pull at me a little but we both know I’m not all that. I stand in your shallows before we part and breathe deeply. I am replenished. I am flushed as you brush my toes. You swell then fade and I walk away.
Saturday: Glauke
You are threatening and grey this morning. You move restlessly, shades of grey dulling your dark blue. I look to the horizon for some solace but the sky is downcast. I stand at your edge and you tussle and shove, splashing in all directions. I’m not sure whether you’re pissed off with me, the world or yourself. Your surface moves uneasily as if you’re trying to shrug off an annoying cloak. But you are stained in your threatening blue ink and it follows you everywhere. I stare into your depths to work out whether it is safe to be surrounded by you. I think you are pissed off with yourself more than me. As I enter you pull and push in all directions, try to catch me by surprise, make sure I’m clear that you’re not playing today. But you’re so annoyed you can’t seem to get it together to pull your waves in one direction. Your irritation fizzles out before it gathers force. I lift my legs and give way to you. You splash my face a little, poke at my legs. I swim further into your petulance. Your current grows stronger as you grow deeper. Irritation gives way to a hissy fit. You pull at me, shove at my legs, throw yourself in my face. I work hard to stay still, just to be with you. In the end I turn to the shore. There’s no bringing you round today. I glide slowly out of your depths and you seem to appreciate the gesture. You bump me forwards, but not too roughly. You’re still stewing as I leave. I stand and watch you, replenished. You spit at my toes for such sentimentality. I smile as I look into your seething, shifting, moody blue depths. You know I’ll be back.
Sunday: Melite
You are still today. Your silence surprises me. Your expanse is like a huge looking glass for a mussel-sky. You will give me today to do as I will. Your calm is exciting. I stride towards you. You do not flinch and neither do I. You bow and reach a hand to guide me into your depths like a patient parent. Your edges lap at my feet before parting and reforming around me. I glide into your depths, and we settle together like mercury. I stand in your peace, study as your blue gives way to its reflection along a hazy, uniform line on the horizon. I feel a small pang of guilt as I prepare to disturb your peace. But it doesn’t last long. I lift myself onto your surface, cast my own face into your mirror. You hold me like an infant. I turn, stroke and kick and you swaddle me. I could swim all day but for your cold tinge; if only I could insulate myself in your embrace. You wait for me to finish. Begrudgingly, I whirl a small pool as I turn. I pull slow strokes towards the shore. You part again. So courteous. I really am no bother. I rise from you, replenished. I gaze at you once more before I leave. You are still. It is as if I had never been here.
For swim club, with love x
EM Jones 