We leave the boat yards away from shore, the anchor chain glistening, oddly refracted in the clear water. 

We slide into the brisk water, hopping on pointed toes, shrugging our shoulders, exclaiming over the juxtaposition of hot sun, cold lake. 

We walk to shore, legs heavy, unwieldy in the water. As the thin strip of dry sand looms closer, we lift our legs higher, stepping over the weak waves rather than through them. 

We pause, there on shore. Look one way, up the coast. Towards pine trees lining the sheer drop-off of a cliff, layers of red clay memorialized in the cliff’s face. 

We look the other way, towards the long cement breakwater that stretches into the blue expanse, arbitrarily separating one blue body from another identical one. 

We walk along the sun-warmed sand towards the breakwater; past families sprawled on damp towels, past boats pulled all the way up to the softly sloping sand, past dogs lying obediently with their heads on their paws, watching. 

We stop at the breakwater: jump, pose, photograph, swim. 

Not much time has passed before we must return. Return to beach, to boat, to lake, to house. And so we walk again, once more passing families, boats, dogs. 

The child with us is playing Tag, like always, and we run now. She tags one and we’re eight adults there, running, splashing, falling through the knee-deep water, tagging and missing and trying again. 

We spread out, unconsciously separate ourselves in child-like, instinctive fear of being tagged, but then we drift together again, splashing steps once more side by side. 

Then we’ve stopped, there on the edge of the water. To our right, the child plays, splashing and floating in the crystal water. 

In front, the momentary leader of our group, the boy flicks a button on his camera, throws the little machine into the air. We watch, smiling, posing for the camera, soaring through the air above us. 

We chuckle, marveling at the miniature device as it plummets to the earth once more, landing neatly in the boy’s palm. 

Then we’re running, tagging, walking, splashing back to the boat, the camera in his pocket, one more picture, one more memory preserved; an aerial snapshot of an afternoon on the water. 



2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Grammy and Poppi
    Aug 18, 2014 @ 16:08:23

    Great shot….. how many times did he have to throw it to get the right shot.??
    what fun new technology is … !!..


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