The mockingbirds scold me for my impropriety. I turn an underwater somersault, two, three; I do an underwater headstand, toes pointed perfectly up.
I backstroke til my shoulders complain... I pop up into an inner tube and sling my arms over the sides, dangle, drift, bliss out, and then I pop up and back down, submerging, mermaid hair twirling around my head like Medusa's snakes, following me down as I dive, pulled straight as I launch back up.
I cling to the brick coping, peering over it, exposing as little of myself as possible - so quiet, so still - to watch the mockingbirds just a foot away. They chide me again, shocking scandalous watergirl.
I launch myself from the wall again, corkscrewing through the water, long goldredbrown hair in seaweed tendrils twisting around me as I twirl.
Florida is not home, and this house is not home, but the water - the water is home.
Later, in the shower, I find a single mockingbird feather in my hair.