>I thought about God all the while we swam back. I rested on the deck, which my grandfather had built, decades before, when I was a little boy. My grandfather died not long after that. I am sure he did a lot of living between the deck-building and his death, but I do not know about this time, so the deck-building is firmly connected to his death in my view. I rested and Glen brought me my guitar. I wrote a song about diving into the water and racing the bubbles to the surface, like being charged with the inevitability of God in your life. It is a good song, but I have not performed it yet.
Glen brought me the guitar as he tidied the tiny livingroom; he did not know where the case was, so it was easier to bring the guitar to me. The livingroom needed cleaning because we had been living in it for the past day-and-a-half while it rained. I was going to join him, but first I needed to get this song out of my head and down onto paper. Glen knew that without me saying a word; someday he would make a good partner, but for now he was stuck with me, and I with him. Glen is moody, and it does him good to have his own space, whether it is his room or the miniscule cottage livingroom