Lakeside

At Bryophyte Lake, my husband and I walked a trail that goes around the lake, often so deep into the woods that we couldn't see the lake at all. We followed one trail down to a wooden dock where a little boy was fishing. The boy seemed eager for company so I stopped and chatted with him, while my husband went off to figure out why the trail markers didn't seem to match the map we had. The boy kept telling me how good the fishing was and how much he knew about fishing. He was still bragging about his fishing experiences when he pulled up his hook and noticed the worm missing. Without missing a beat, he turned and said to me, "Will you put another worm on for me? I don't know how."

It's been years since I put a wriggling earthworm on a fish hook, but I guess it's one of those skills you never lose.

We figured out which trail to take and continued on our way, leaving the boy to fish by himself. At the far end of the lake, a low wooden bridge made a nice place to sit in the sun. Taking off our socks and hiking boots, we put our feet into the water. Three women came by on a mountain bike: the first one hesitated at the beginning of the bridge, but my husband cheered her on, and all three negotiated the bumpy on-and-off ramps just fine. Another woman walked by with a beautiful dog, who leaped into the water and then came out to shake water all over us. A man went by in a kayak, skimming peacefully along the surface. But mostly, we were alone in the sunshine with our thoughts and dreams.