Pool days, everyday for an entire week, I miss them already and I’ve not even left yet. The terracotta tiles that slowly heat up like stones in an oven, my tanning balm that smells like carrots and stains the white towels, to my mom’s dismay, a strange orange brown shade, the pile of dog eared books and highlighter rolling around between reading. The mountain view and the crew of dogs in massive and mini size that come and go, barking so often at whoever is swimming. The quick skip up the stairs back to the kitchen for more ice or a handful of crisp grapes from the fridge or a slice of peanut butter on rye because swimming makes me hungry. My boyfriend’s go pro camera precariously dangling on the pool’s edge to photograph all my failed, more funny than arty attempts at underwater photography. The breeze that almost mystically doesn’t seem to blow anywhere but between these ivy walls and the roofed barbecue. The cannonball jumps that awkwardly shove my push up bandeaus down to my belly button. The cheap sun loungers that sit incongruous but somehow, still comfortably in the otherwise very rustic setting. My mom calling from the window about the watermelon juice she just made. The pile of shoes and sandals abandoned in the same corner where the latest pool inflatable bounces around in the breeze. It’s a tiny slice of this overwhelmingly enormous world but for over a decade, its been mine every summer. I will always love this dark blue pool that sits below wild tangles of green ivy, the inexplicable breeze, the pretty terracotta and ancient stone walls. I cannot remember a summer season where I didn’t share photos of me sitting or splashing or posing dramatically here with you. And I love that. I love these small consistencies I can clutch at in my life which otherwise feels so inconsistent and strange and forever new. I’ve experienced far grander pools, infinity or olympic sized or with views more impressive, but this one here will always be my favourite. Always.