I could dig out the book, I know is right here somewhere. It will tell me what the characteristic Loon calls mean, what they are saying to each other. Or I could just listen to them laugh and chatter across the moon-lit lake. This is a journey of redemption. This is my journey of remembrance. Few are so lucky to have a place in their lives that has stood the test of time, and that they can return to. It has felt less like home after the tumultuous last few years. Truth be told, It will never be the same in my heart, but it can still be the place of peace and rejuvenation it has always been; when I agree to the new role it plays in my life.
When you see the bandstand, you are almost there…
Down the road, past the cemetery where the man’s leg is buried, take the first right, the dirt road. Slow the car and roll down the windows, dust be damned, the smell of pine and summers at the cottage flood the car.
We drifted, as we have in real life, as sisters. Not sure of our directions but always with a hand to guide. There was nothing more important than running through the lawn barefoot, calling “Oogly Googly Go Away” to the slugs and critters we knew were lurking. The dock caught the afternoon sun, and the attention of a Mama Duck with her 7 youngsters.
Luring them in with great cunning, (cheese and crackers) she only wanted to hug one. Mama Duck was having none of that.
Later, the moon came up over the lake and I knew I had fully escaped.