I learned to swim in the middle of winter. In Minnesota.

Every Saturday morning, our moms would drive us to the Central School Pool. In the locker room we unbundled from hats and mittens and coats and boots, into the unthinkable winter wear — swimsuits. We raced past the “walk” signs, up the stairs, and stood beside the blue. Bare armed. Bare legged. Looking out the large windows at the patient snow.

We didn’t know words like ironic, or unusual. Or even patience. We only came to swim in the heated pool of winter. And we did learn. All at our own pace. Some more afraid than others. But all eager to be able to eventually protect ourselves. Save ourselves. And then just swim. To get from one side to the other.

It takes patience to paint. If you have an idea in your head, the eagerness to get to that image is palpable. But it has its own timing. It will arrive slowly. Stroke by stroke. Sometimes I remember to take photos, to remind myself of the process. To remind myself I will get through. And it will be beautiful.

This is a new season for patience. My heart feels bare. Stuck out in the winter in my summer clothes. But I know everything has its own timing. Each day a gift, a lesson, something beautiful, stroke by stroke.