More love notes to the lake.
(Here’s Part 1).
At the risk of sounding like that song in Moana… water calls to me. I can happily park my rear end where the waves meet the shore, zoning out to that endless rhythm.
Unless the humidex is in the 40s and a scorching sun has heated the water to reach a Vanessa-approved temperature, I’m not likely to immerse myself, though. My kids, lucky for them, haven’t inherited my aversion to the cold. They’re happy to splash till their lips turn blue. And then splash some more.
While camping with friends at Long Point Provincial Park on the shores of Lake Erie, I sneaked away from the group at sunset to watch the sky turn purple over the lake. Then, in the early hours of the morning when sleep eluded me, I returned for the pink and orange show. The beach was deserted except for two relentless flies who were, apparently, holding an intense competition to see which one of them could bite my feet more often.
No matter. Flies or no – I love the lake, in its many variations.
“A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.”