"When everything else has gone from my brain ... what will be left, I believe, is topology: the dreaming memory of land as it lay this way and that." Annie Dillard
The tentative goal: to find the dock where we can park kayaks. But that's just an excuse to explore.
People wave and smile as they take out their trash or water their plants. I wonder if they're native to this place or tourists here like us.
Fifteen minutes down the way, I come to the lake's end. Or at least the terminus of this inlet. It comes to a gentle stop, this water; it empties into a field of green.
posted by Anne Cassidy at
10:29 AM
I’m a writer and editor, the author of "Parents Who Think Too Much" and a freelancer published everywhere from the "New York Times" to "Woman’s Day." I’ve been scribbling my thoughts in one tattered notebook or another for most of my life, but this blog is the first time I’ve gone public. I'm glad you've landed here, and I hope you visit often.
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