Lake in April

Late afternoon yesterday, after talking to a friend about sadness and loss, I decided to sneak over to Pretty Colour Lakes for an hour, hoping that the cool, fresh air would change my mood. In the shade of the hills, I could feel the cold through my fleece so I walked the trail on the east side of the lake to get the slanted afternoon sun. The trees were mostly bare, brown trunks and branches still waiting for spring, with just the cedar trees offering smudges of green. In the wet brown sand at the end of the lake, I stopped to read some brief messages written earlier, evidently by a girl named Katie. The only people I saw were fishermen, all older men, and each alone, in his own spot, just casting a line into the lake in silence. I smiled at each fisherman, but did not speak, as I walked on the familiar trail, stopping in the sunny spots to warm myself, but mostly just moving along, walking and walking until the sadness I carried with me seeped into the lake.