Dusk

One evening, we drove into Small Town On Numbered Lake to buy some snacks for hiking and some cranberry juice, the official drink of romantic weekends. I was surprised to see cars parked along all the roads leading into town. Something big was going on, we figured. Fireworks perhaps.

We found a spot in the parking lot of a small church and walked to the little convenience store. The town has a public dock that stretches along an inlet and out into the lake, and I figured we would walk out onto the dock to watch the sunset. Dusk had fallen, and the lake and clouds were a misty blue. Near the playground, we saw that a huge white tent had been set up, the kind of tent people use for wedding receptions. And from the tent, we could hear, loud and clear, the music of a full orchestra.

The Snowstorm City Symphony had come to the mountains to perform a free public concert. Because it had been raining earlier, most people were crowded inside the tent on folding chairs, but as we strolled down the dock by ourselves, away from all the people, we could hear the music clearly. We sat on a bench, looking at the setting sun and listening to classical music and watching while a lone kayaker came paddling past, coming in for the night.