I sat on the dock, feet dangling in the water, a warm breeze blowing gently over the lake; it felt like  fingers running through my hair.

I could hear the water lapping against the dock and the shoreline, rhythmically sliding over the rocks.  Birds chirped quietly and the crickets were just starting to hum.
I recall thinking, briefly, that there weren’t any mosquitoes biting at me.

And the trees… oh, the trees. They danced on the breeze – especially the big willow in front of the new cabin, its branches swaying back and forth, almost touching the grass.

Strange, though, that no one else seemed to be out enjoying this beautiful day.
Usually, there are fishermen out in their boats, children playing in the sand,  families out swimming. It was remarkably peaceful.

I was totally at ease when I heard footsteps on the dock behind me and felt the dock rock a bit.
I really didn’t expect anyone else to be there.

We sat there, together. Our shoes tossed up on the grass and jeans rolled up to our knees. We shared a drink… Jameson & ginger ale. It was really, really refreshing in the warm air.

No words had been exchanged, just a shared glass and occasional splash.

As the sun started to drop, the terra cotta sky reflected on the lake. It was like an impressionist painting.
The crickets were  really going at it, I thought.
But then I realized that it wasn’t normal chatter. It was harmonious. It was lyrical.
They were playing for me.

I stood up and walked toward the cabin, and once my feet touched the grass, the music became louder, clearer. They wanted me to dance.

I found a flat section of the yard and took my position.
There was no choreography, no defined movements, just me, dancing with the birds and bugs and trees.
The willow tree swayed with me, caressed me as I twirled around it.

It was lovely, and freeing, and wonderful.

 

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