August Vacation, Now a Distant Memory

paisley daisy fish jump at the end of my paddle. light breeze ripples the lake, tuning the white pines that shade an orange bucket half full of sand. distant day loon calls carry from shady cove where weeds part for bass. wet spot spreading on the notebook cover. now a seaplane, wings tipping a greeting, hanging low, barely pushing the air between flight and fall, drops over treeline at the end of our lake. crackers and juice in wide, slingbacked chairs, a book open on the arm, while little one snuggles up close in the sun. midday blows gradually to a perfect sailing pitch, lifejackets still wet from the day before. waterbugs gather (in child script), organic, a collective mind dissolving like a cloud feeding its middle from the edges.