Lake of the Woods, ON - Jack G

My Watermark is Lake of the Woods, Ontario.

When I was young at the lake, I would frolic in the sand with a bounce in my step. I could feel nothing but the grains of gold burning on my toes. I would canter around in my shoeless feet, making a castle for the creatures who roam this beach. A plan I had made for the worm to stay safe or the bird to take a break. I’d trip and stumble, the only product was a mouth full of sand. The only thing to do would be to get up and go again. After hours of work and struggle, was my castle, standing tall, the outcome of it all. Impenetrable to the waves, yet fragile and small.

When I was young at the lake, it’d be time for a swim. The waves crashing and thrashing and banging around, or to what it seemed. My inadequate body being flushed away, a curl of water was all it takes. The water was green but seemed crystal clear, it had blue gleam that could make a seagull go blind. White caps only small enough to hurt a bug. One foot, then the other. I’d tear up the waves until it got deep, one foot then the other, would leave the sand. I would plunge into the water, delicately, disturbing the surface and the fish and the sand. Clouds of sand rise like a tent covering the above. A chill runs through my spine, it must be the briskness running by my legs.

When I was young at the lake, a watermelon would soak all my taste buds with a candied juice. Eating was the greater point at the moment. The pink seeded slice coming toward my mouth, that is widening in excitement. As I crush the cube of refreshing fruit, Mom passes me the bag of sunflower seeds. I crack a shell open, a pickled flavor rushes to my tongue, spitting out the shell I reach for more. This experience repeats for each shell and each seed.

The sun is halving and the moon rising. the fire crackles and sends sparks flying, along with the fireflies.The day has past and my eyes flutter it might be time for sleep. I cuddle up to Mom, wrap a blanket around my body. A hand strokes the small of my back. The chatter remains through the adults, but none is coming from me. I start to fade and dream of what tomorrow will bring.

Jack G

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