I stood at the end of the dock, barefoot on the smooth warm grey boards, staying carefully to the left to avoid the place where the beam has rotted away underneath, and felt the soft sun on my back, and saw my shadow reflecting up from inside the bluegreenbrowngold water, full of rising and falling motes, like dust in a sunbeam. I tried to take its picture, but it wouldn't be photographed, so I stood there and tried to memorize it.
I want to take this whole lake home with me. I want to go without shoes for so many days I lose them, and get bored and go on boats and get a sunburned nose and see how many freckles I have if I really work at it and swim in cool golden water and imagine cities in the clouds and watch the same videos over and over with the kiddo twined around me, hooking her legs over mine and kneading the soft flesh of my upper arm, and listen to the thousand thousand sounds this dock makes. Then I went back up to the cabin to cut avocados and sprinkle them with salt and make buttery bread with the last of the butter. And came back down to the dock. And went back up again to cut the crusts off.
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AuthorBitter Water
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. Archives
June 2019
Categories© Francie Nevill and Every Sweet Thing, 2017.
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