Goose Lake is still choked with lilies, but here and there a small patch of water is now visible. The muck slowly recedes, but there’s no shore, no place to put in a canoe, or to cast a line. By all signs, it won’t be that kind of summer. A fallen cottonwood branch lies across the part of the path that leads to the only other place of easy access to the water. Alongside and beneath it is some rotting wood. On the way out — after looking at more muck and more lilies — we meet there a small swarm of black bees that we must have disturbed going in. There’s nothing we can do but politely step through them; since it’s morning and still fairly cool, we aren’t chased or stung. Or maybe they pity our clumsy ignorance and understand our good intentions. Either way, it’s good to see lives such as these being lived — tree lives, insect lives, lily lives — and to be here among them.
A father and his little girl, picking blackberries. He’s her ladder.
July 31, 2019
[ 467 ]