Saturday was a day of quiet loneliness, the Boulder Reservoir deserted by people and, mostly, by sun. Even the lifeguard had time to chat, and a man with an Italian accent accosted me about the movie that night. I wasn’t there for the movie but to grasp summer and keep it under my arm, remembering childhood holidays at Lake Tapawingo where the evening air and water stayed warm past Labor Day. I waded into the shallows; even the water was withdrawing, the solstice only a week away.
Two boys built their own lake and canals right next to the beach. Their father watched, then buried one up to his neck after the lake breached. I christen the boys Gustav and Ike as I drive to Walden Ponds, still in search of the perfect body of water.
Mudflats darkening. The wind
calls: kweep kweep, kweep kweep, kweep—