In the distance, I hear the clang of
a metal ladder as it’s leaned against a house. Someone is painting. I stroll
along South Shore Drive, steel blue water winking between the trees, and imagine what it must be like to live beside a lake, to take a daily measure
of its moods and colors. From the looks of the canoes and kayaks
along the shore, this lake is not just observed; it is experienced.
Before long I’m at the far end of Lake Anne — and Wiehle Avenue, which I thought was farther east. Foot travel often surprises me this way, showing me connections that car travel cannot. As I swing around to the northern shore, I catch a whiff of simmering grains and the sharp-sweet scent of cinnamon. Rice pudding? My stomach rumbles, and I walk faster, back to my car. It’s never far away in the suburbs.