Over the Groverkill and through the woods, the hidden swimming hole is all but inaccessible from elsewhere for human animals. But not for the eagles, a great blue heron, ducks, toads, frogs and the cobalt and robin’s egg blue darning needles that land on my outstretched arms.
There are sycamores on the west and east banks, some established, with partially-exposed extravagant roots, and some small (sycalesses), trying to stake out their territory between the rocks. And so many of the rocks, seemingly solid, break down with hardly a smash into what in the driveway is called item #4.
Hot early September, summer is still resolute, but the clear water that flows to this secret spot (rather than to the tap in NYC), is shockingly cold (unless you’re a Labrador) after Sunday’s storms.