Swimming Standards

I stirred the cold shallows with a slender twig to kick up a purposeful current across the silt. You need not wonder if swimming is being taught; in this water, hesitation is disqualification. I watched the little dark shape beat its tail furiously against the push, refusing to drift into the stagnant weed. It drove straight toward the anchored moss clump I chose as the target, slicing cleanly through the chill. Weak flailing earns no mercy from me, but that forward drive met every benchmark I set this morning. I pulled the twig back and let the current settle.