Monday: It was cool. Low clouds hung over the green grass and grey water. Slight winds rustled our hair as we walked along the dirt paths, speaking in small tones to each another. There were bugs. But most of them twittered around rather than on and the sun shone barely through a series of constant cloud patterns. The clothesline swayed back and forth and, on our walks, you could hear the rustle of small animals. Birds and maybe rabbits. The sunset was golden and wrapped our three lives in warmth and the momentary awareness of earthly grace. I bathed in the bright, harsh sunset and watched our shadows become, at times, one. We hoped for sun.
Tuesday: It was grand. The sun, which we had hoped for, after all, came out and was strong. The day was spent amidst the wooden dock and its varied paraphanalia: the preservers, the lotions, the drinks, the towels and the chips. The sky was mostly a whitish blue and the greens were grand and gorgeous, everywhere. We looked out at the now bluish lake waters and there minnows in schools went left and right and then left. Larger fish darted in and out of the day and, for the most part, I avoided them. The green algae below felt weird beneath my feet but the smaller stones in the shallows were nice. The conversation was staggered around the good fortune of good weather. We hoped for continuity.
Wednesday: It was warm. The day passed slowly at first as we bathed in the North lakeside. The sands there were hard and stepped on but it was quiet and the trees seemed happy to tolerate our temporary hold on that beach. Slowly, as if half-hour increments, the sun grew hotter and hotter and the air, more still. Our shadows wouldn’t hold and the drinks flowed more deliberately. We were thirsty and the sun shone deeply. The clouds took on a white, thin appearance later in the afternoon and the lake became still, except for the occasional ripples caused by motor boats. Afraid of the fish, I did not swim. It was announced that it would probably rain later, perhaps during the late evening; the humidity was soaring and the temperatures along with it. The trees looked thin in the heat and nothing much moved except for the honeybees and their clover harvests.
-Reporting live from Moose Lake, Manitoba, near the Minnesota border, your intrepid reporter, Andrew Boardman.