For seventy years, the University of Cambridge kept its secret tucked beneath the weeds. Students passed it daily, throwing an idle glance at it, but only the few privileged history students could tell what had inspired the bronze leg art bleaching the water surface. It was an art meant to honor the swimming clubs in the late 60s.
The pathway above the shallow stream was Roseline's favorite spot. She came there every evening to watch the reflection of the ripples—it was a place she found comfort after a busy and hectic day in school. Occasionally she glanced at the art of the diver in the shallow water and smiled. Whoever had made the sculpture did a very bad job, she thought, "No diver goes into the water like this," she mumbled. She was a swimmer, and she believed only a swimmer could make a better sculpture of a diver.
Even though the art was meant to honor swimmers, its relevance seemed to fade with the passing of time. An art that was once a center of admiration suddenly became a forgotten piece of art—even though it was in the public, its history was gone with the swimming clubs in the 60s.
