Chlorine Dreams

As kids, my brother, sister and I were pool rats. We lived for school's end when we spent hour upon hour each day at the local pool. Even on the hottest and stickiest North Carolina days, we wouldn't let mom roll down the windows during our steamy drive to the pool. We wanted to get as heated up as humanly possible to make the most of our plunge into the cool water. As we wound through the tree-shadowed entrance, I remember feeling the anticipation rise and the sweat beads drop, one by one onto the Pinto's scorching vinyl seats. We'd all eventually go on to become competitive swimmers, which pretty much made the pool our second home. To this day, walking onto pool grounds gives me a jolt. From the chlorine smell to the sound of splashing and muted voices, it's a rush of memories that I really treasure.

I don't think you have to hold pools close to your heart to find an empty one quite startling. It's almost like a contrast between life and death. Abandoned buildings in general give me the same sensation along with ghostly visions of the life that once filled each nook and cranny. The tiled lines on the bottom of the pool that long ago served as an imaginative little girl's deep sea floor are now crumbled and dry, no longer protected by a watery veil. Is it weird that it almost brings a lump to my throat? My dad always said I was too sensitive....

It's obviously not just me. ASWOBA introduced me to these photographs of abandoned London pools posted at Polar Intertia. Though I find them all beautifully sad in their own way, these were two of my favorites....