The woman stopped in mid-stroke suddenly. She looked at the swimming pool, glistening wavelets rocking her slightly. She scratched her plastic-coated head.
She turned to begin another lap and paused again. She was a woman of habit. A swim each day. Her hair in its tight plastic cap. The same red bathers. The same stroke. The same, the same, the same.
She peeled her much loathed bathing cap from her head and flung it to the side of the pool. And she swam.
As she swam, her gloriously long, curly hair straightened out down along her sides. It swayed and enveloped her. It was incredible. It was a rivulet of senses running down her back. It was years since she had done this. It was a thing of silken beauty. It was a sensory overload. It was, it was, it was....
It was glorious.