On the dock in the morning before breakfast, the sun was directly across the lake above the trees that grow out of the rock, and the shouts of children drifted across the water. I laid on my tummy at the edge of the dock with my face close to the water feeling the wood beneath my body swaying up and down with the water and it was all white squiggily points of light on the surface of the green-black. Always moving. Dancing, squiggiling. Oblong lilly pads carrying drops of water - little round perfect bubbles on the green of the lilly pads.

Laying on my back on the dock for a long time in the darkness of the chilly night, and it was all tiny white points of light in the big black sky through the haze of the milky way. I had forgotten how many stars can be seen away from the city, in the absence of light. My body against my best friend for warmth, hugging her arm, trying not to shiver from the cold. Watching especially for shooting stars - some bright and quick, some not so bright. One dropping slowly out of the sky and into the boat tied nearby.

Ten of us sleeping up in the loft above the two bedrooms, and more downstairs. It was all piles of mattresses and sleeping bags and pillows and people under the sloping planks of the cabin roof, the sound of loons on the lake.

Cooking our meals on the fire and washing our hands in a basin of lake water.

Fires at night out on the rock that slopes down into the water. Roasting marshmallows and stuffing them with caramel chocolate kisses.


Swimming under a gray sky in the morning through a light drizzle. I like the way the water shines golden over me as I look out to my toes while I lie on my back when I tire of treading, just under the surface, my arms outstretched, my hair floating around my shoulders, only my face feels the air, and I feel beautiful like that lying in the golden water.


And there was dirt under my fingernails.