Mermaid hair

We swim every afternoon at camp, taking boats out to a nearby island so that everyone can jump into the deep water. Because the River That Runs Between Two Countries is deep and wide, it takes months for the water to warm up, and in early July, the water is still what my family euphemistically calls "refreshing." The river works well for chilling watermelons or drinks, but it's been known to cause unsuspecting swimmers to scream in surprise when they hit the water. Some members of the family are oblivious to the cold and will play in the water until their lips turn blue, but I usually swim just long enough to get my body chilled through, and then clamber out onto the rocks to bake in the sun.

But it's August now, and the river water has warmed enough that I could dive in without my body registering the shock of coldness. It felt luxurious to be able to swim from island to rock without the usual hurry to climb out of the icy coldness. Shaggy Hair Boy and his grandmother both took the time to wash their hair in the river, sudsing up their long hair and then diving under to rinse the shampoo out. Shaggy Hair Boy stretched out on the shallow rock shelf, his hair drifting behind him like a mermaid.